Of Enemies and Allies
by AMirroredImage
Summary: When Emrys and the Once and Future King receive an invitation of peace, it's accompanied with news of a dark battle swarming on the horizon. Struggling to bring Camelot into the Golden Age, matters only get worse when Merlin finds himself in trouble. Can Warlock and King learn to trust in Destiny before it's too late? PART 2 in THE COMING OF ALBION TRILOGY. AU post 5x13. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! Welcome to the sequel of For Destiny and Friendship!

To readers that haven't read **For Destiny and Friendship**, I suggest going to my profile and checking it out. This story will most likely refer to D&F at times, and it would be helpful to know what's going on. Also, D&F and this story are AU from the finale, so it would benefit you to read my version of the ending.

As for this story, the first few chapters will be setting up the plot, but no worries, there will be plenty of adventure and magic later on! Also, this one will be larger than D&F, and I will probably be updating it every two weeks, instead of one. College is getting pretty busy, but I will try and update regularly.

Thanks again to all those who reviewed, followed, or favorited D&F, and I hope you like the sequel just as much! Please continue to let me know what you think!

Without further ado, I present, **Of Enemies and Allies**!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

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><p>"Rise and shine!" Arthur's cheery voice broke through the silent chambers.<p>

"Wha—Arthur?" Merlin mumbled into his pillow, eyes shut tight against the sunlight now streaming in from the windows.

It had been just over a month since the feast and Arthur's announcement revoking the ban on magic. While the citizens of Camelot were mostly receptive to the change, the king and his warlock still battled the prejudice Uther's reign built—especially among the council. After days of demanding meetings, Gwen decided to give the men something positive to focus on. One evening, the queen suddenly declared it improper to keep their Court Sorcerer in the small storage space of the Court Physician, and quickly took it upon herself to research the history of Camelot's Court Sorcerer and their accommodations. To her delight, Gwen discovered papers detailing that the long abandoned south tower had been used by generations of Court Sorcerers as a place to live and collect magical relics and books. She relayed her findings to her husband, and he happily agreed to furnish the tower for their beloved warlock. Merlin, although at first he claimed he didn't need a different room, was quite pleased to find that the tower was situated between the king's chambers and those of the Court Physician. He accepted his friends' generous gift, and the cleaning began right away. It was hard work, emptying the tower, but with a few long days, and a few handy cleaning spells, the rooms were ready to fill.

Arthur had also ordered all magical relics and books previously hidden in the vaults into Merlin's care and study. The warlock didn't have much to his name, but he found ways to infuse the room with character. Now, the chambers felt similar to the Physician's tower, filled to the brim with magical artifacts, drying herbs, and all sorts of experimental equipment. Of course, Merlin had made his own personal contributions and placed the magic book Gaius had given him beside his father's carved dragon in his study. But once the rooms were completed, Merlin had been uneasy; it was hard living on his own, without Gaius.

After a few weeks had passed, though, Merlin found that he was getting used to it, and quite liked the peace and quiet. That is, until a certain royal prat saw it as his duty to interrupt this peace and quiet.

"What are doing?" He mumbled, looking at his king with tiny slits of kaleidoscopic blue.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Arthur leaned back against the wall, apple in hand.

"It looks like you're eating an apple that was sitting on _my_ dining table." Merlin muttered, sitting up in bed and stretching his arms out with a yawn.

Arthur stopped mid-bite, before he smirked, and continued eating. "Well, my original intention was to come and wake you up—the apple was an added bonus."

"Isn't that my job?"

"What, stealing food?" Arthur raised an eyebrow,

"No, you clotpole, waking you up!"

To the surprise of the castle's inhabitants, Merlin had asked to retain some of his servant duties after his promotion to Court Sorcerer. These mostly included duties that were part of his morning routine, though thankfully, someone else had been hired to muck out the king's stables and to do his laundry. At first, Arthur had adamantly refused the warlock's request, saying Merlin deserved more, and that his new status of nobility and position as Court Sorcerer did not include that kind of labor. But Merlin pushed. He argued that, as Court Sorcerer, he would be following Arthur around just as much as he used to, and could easily accomplish his previous tasks as well as his new ones.

Besides, Merlin had given him a cheeky grin, and told the king that he'd soon miss his unique wake-up style. This was proven to be fact, when, after only a few days without "manservant" Merlin, Arthur realized how much he missed the cheery "rise and shine!" He quickly became annoyed with the timid and efficient boot-lickers who quietly cleaned his chambers and served him heaping breakfasts in bed. And so, Arthur eventually agreed to Merlin's demands, secretly happy to keep a part of their old relationship. Though if it ever came up between him and the knights, Arthur would attempt to save face and say that by keeping their morning arrangement the same, he was, according to Merlin, just saving the life of some other servant.

Merlin chucked a pillow at the king. "Why are you here, really? You're never up this early."

Arthur sidestepped, letting the projectile collide with the wall.

"Actually, I'm here because of Guinevere."

"Gwen?" Merlin's curiosity bubbled into the word. "Why?"

"She's decided that your position requires some new attire appropriate to your status. That new wardrobe of yours apparently needs plenty of filling."

"But I like my clothes," Merlin pouted, his eyes going to the neckerchief on his nightstand.

Arthur snorted. "Well she was quite adamant, so naturally, I agreed. She's going to come by to have you measured."

The warlock groaned, flopping back onto the mattress.

Arthur chuckled, "I'm not sure of the time, but I thought I would come here to warn you."

"Oh yes, Sire, so thoughtful of you."

It was then that a faint knock sounded at the door, the sound travelling up into Merlin's bedroom.

"Ugh, it's too early for this." Merlin pulled back the covers, and placed his feet on the ground beside the bed. Eyes flashing gold—Arthur assumed he had opened the tower door, the warlock called down to his visitors, "We'll be down in a minute!"

The king picked up the pillow that had been thrown earlier, and launched it back at his former servant. Merlin's eyes glowed, and the blue cushion stopped mid-air, before falling onto the bed.

"Nice try."

Arthur shrugged, watching as Merlin disappeared behind a dressing screen. After a few moments the warlock reappeared, his usual trousers and tunic replacing his nightclothes. He grabbed his neckerchief, and then joined Arthur as he made his way to the stairs.

The Court Sorcerer's tower was composed of a main chamber, a back room, and a lower and upper level. The main chamber was situated much like Arthur's, with a divided curtain and pillars for support. Merlin used the back half for a place to cook and experiment with different potions, and the room's front portion for a dining and living space, furnished with a dining table and a few wing-backed chairs for reading the plentiful supply of books that occupied the wall of bookcases.

The back room was also where a staircase spiraled into the floor and ceiling, leading down to a room Merlin used for storing magical items, and leading up to Merlin's bedroom—and from where the king and his advisor were currently appearing.

As the two men descended the staircase, they found Gwen setting a vase of fresh flowers on the table.

"Good morning Merlin. I see Arthur came to warn you," Gwen greeted merrily, giving the warlock a hug, "or watch you get pricked like a pincushion, more likely."

"Of course not!" Arthur protested, his lips twitching upward into a smile.

The warlock glared at his king, but his eyes gave away his amusement. "You know Arthur, he'll do anything to avoid George."

Gwen laughed, the happy sound echoing through the room.

Now, it was Arthur's turn to glare.

"I am _not_ avoiding him!"

"Don't listen to him Merlin, George came to wash the floor this morning, and it got Arthur out of bed faster than if someone had rung the warning bells!"

Merlin chuckled. "You know, Sire, George doesn't bite."

"No, but he's the driest man I've ever met. There's nothing but polishing tricks, and _'please the king, please the king,'_ going on between his ears."

"Arthur!" Gwen slapped her husband across the chest.

"Guinevere, he makes jokes about _brass_." He huffed indignantly.

The queen's shocked expression melted, turning into a smile. "I know, I've heard them all as well. But you shouldn't be rude."

Merlin watched as Arthur snapped his jaw shut, knowing this was the end of the conversation on his bootlicking manservant—even if he was still thinking about it.

Gwen cleared her throat, determination lighting her eyes as she straightened her back, "In any case, Merlin, I'm here because you need some new clothes. I know your wardrobe is barely filled, and so it's high time we fix that." Gwen looked to her husband, "We can't have our Court Sorcerer walking around in servants attire, now can we Arthur?"

Arthur's lips turned up slightly, but he replied in steady tone, "Of course not."

"Alright then, we'll just get this started; the sooner we finish the sooner you two can be off doing whatever you need to be doing." Gwen turned and motioned to an individual behind her whom both Merlin and Arthur had failed to notice.

"Ok Millie, time to work your magic!" The queen encouraged, her choice of words earning a smile from Merlin.

Millie stepped forward and winked at the warlock, "I'm not sure if what I do can be compared to something as exciting as magic, but by the end, you'll have some much nicer clothes, that much I can guarantee."

Unlike many of the servants and townsfolk who gave Merlin a wide berth when he was around them, Millie approached easily, giving a quick bow to Arthur and a respectful nod to Merlin. She set down her bag and small wooden stool. Pulling a few things from her supplies, Millie glanced up, her eyes flickering to the stationary warlock.

"Take your shirt off and step up here, please," the seamstress pointed to the stool. Arthur tensed at the request, a defense for his friend perched on the tip of his tongue, while Gwen's lips twitched into a frown, her eyes shining with something between guilt and sympathy.

Merlin squirmed uncomfortably, his hands playing with the hem of his tunic. He sighed and slowly pulled the shirt over his head, stepping onto the stool after it was off. Millie drew a few more items from her bag and then turned to look at her subject before she let out a sound somewhere between a squeak and a gasp.

Arthur frowned. He knew Merlin hid his scars not only because it made him uncomfortable, but also to spare those around him. Although they were no longer new to Arthur, every time he saw the white lines and marks that marred the warlock's flesh, a fierce wave of protectiveness surged through him. If he could help it, his brother's body wouldn't have any more scars added to it.

Merlin glanced down at Millie sympathetically, motioning for her to get to work. She nodded, silently grabbing the tape measure. Her moves were hesitant at first, but gradually Millie's prowess in her profession came through, and she measured Merlin's toned frame with swift accuracy. Arthur watched as his friend's tense muscles slowly began to loosen. It was only natural for Merlin to feel uncomfortable, as he had only ever taken his shirt off in the company of select and close friends; nevertheless, Arthur wished that it wasn't so. After all, the warlock's scarred flesh was a true testament to Merlin's sacrificial and selfless nature, and it hurt Arthur to see others react to that sacrifice the way that Millie had.

"So, what's on today's schedule?" Arthur asked, attempting to lighten the situation and distract the fidgeting warlock.

Merlin saw the question for what it was, but he answered anyway. "Well, there's training with the knights, the council meeting—"

Arthur groaned, throwing up his hands in annoyance. He turned, and flopped, in a rather un-kingly manner, into one of Merlin's chairs. "I swear the council was only created to make my mornings a nightmare."

Merlin chuckled, but, remembering where he was, he stilled, not wanting to be pricked with pins. "I'm sure they feel the same way, Sire."

Arthur's lips pulled into a smile, the king no doubt thinking about the arguments that had occurred in the council chambers—especially in the last month alone. He was definitely pushing the patience of his "advising" council.

Arthur waved his hand, dismissing the thoughts from his mind. "Alright, go on, what else is planned?"

"Nothing else I'm aware of; we have the afternoon free. So if you want to take a ride, look at the battlements, inspect the knights, whatever. It's up to you, though I do think Leon wanted to talk with you about adding to the knights' ranks."

The king's hand moved to rest underneath his chin, leaning on the chair's arm. "Ok, I'll have to speak with him about that. I was thinking about it myself, actually."

He looked up at his friend, who now sported a loosely pinned-together shirt. "Merlin, would it be possible for you to oversee some magical training?"

Merlin's wide eyes left Millie's hands and focused on his king. "What? I mean, well—sure, I don't see why not. What did you have in mind?"

Arthur's eyebrows knit in concentration. "I was thinking that it would be a good idea if we started to branch out a bit. If we need more men to knight, we should broaden our qualifications—maybe even start a guard of sorcerers."

A grin spread across the warlock's face. "Arthur, that's a great idea!"

"I figured you'd like it." Arthur's eyes shined with the possibilities of the suggestion, his lips turning upward in a small smile. "I think it will go a long way in proving that I was serious when I lifted the ban. I get the feeling that people think I am just waiting for sorcerers to reveal themselves so I can weed them out and revoke it." The king ended with a sigh, his gaze growing slightly dimmer at the implications.

"Appointing a Court Sorcerer wasn't enough?" Gwen scoffed, her anger with the castle gossip showing in her stiff posture and tilt of her hips. "If people ever looked beyond their own noses they'd see that magic can be good, and that Camelot will benefit from repealing the ban."

Arthur nodded, his own frustration making it hard for him to speak. Across the room on the stool, Merlin was frowning, for once failing to hide his annoyance. But his scowl quickly melted, and with a sigh, the warlock's features became a reflection of his exhaustion. He was tired of the doubts, and gossip, and condemning stares.

Arthur couldn't help but feel upset over Merlin's predicament. How must it feel to be gawked at? To be hated by those who only knew one piece of your identity? Or even worse, to be hated by those who you could once call a friend; shunned as soon as the secret was out and you became something more in their eyes?

The king took a deep breath, and tried to pull away from the depressing conversation, "I'll have a word with Leon today, see what he thinks."

Merlin's contemplative gaze latched back onto Arthur, and he shook his head in agreement, not knowing what else there was to say on the matter. The warlock clearly felt antsy about it all, just as Arthur did: the problems they would be facing if the project was ever brought off the ground, as well as the disputes it would likely cause. His unease wasn't just mental, or of the kind that only Arthur's bond could determine—it made its appearance in Merlin's inability to stand still. Millie noticed the increase in her subject's fidgeting, but took it as boredom.

"Stop squirming," the seamstress pushed one of the pins deeper into the fabric than necessary, earning a yelp from the fidgeting warlock, "I'm almost finished."

"Sorry Millie." Merlin grumbled, but the seamstress had managed to distract his thoughts from turning any grimmer.

Silence reigned for the next few minutes, with the king and queen content to sit and watch. Then, a sharp knock interrupted the quiet,

"Come in!" Merlin called. He threw an amused smile at his soul-brother, "Not sure I'll ever get used to that."

"I still find it strange at times," Gwen agreed.

A servant appeared from behind the door, carrying a pitcher, and tray of fruit and various meats and cheeses.

"Ah, breakfast!" Arthur announced cheerfully.

Merlin smirked, "You better be careful, Sire, you—"

"Don't even think about calling me fat, _Mer_lin."

"You said it, not m—"

Gwen coughed, glaring at the two men.

"—me." Merlin trailed off, his voice muffled by the fabric Millie was pulling over his head.

They turned their attention back to the young boy, who looked around skittishly, eyes landing on Merlin, before quickly placing the tray on the table and bowing to the royal couple, "Will you be needing anything else, Your Majesties?"

"No, that will be all." Gwen replied kindly, looking up at the servant, "Thank you."

He nodded stiffly, bowing once more before making a hasty retreat through the door.

Arthur frowned, but shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts. He looked back at Merlin, who was stepping off the stool, once again bare from the waist up.

"Come on Merlin, time to eat!"

The warlock donned his old shirt, and plopped himself into the chair next to Arthur. He grabbed a small slice of bread and a few pieces of meat and cheese, and began to nibble on them, while Millie took a seat in one of the winged chairs, working a needle swiftly through the fabric. Her mind focused on the task at hand, she drifted away from the trio's conversation.

The royals watched as Merlin picked at his food, eating small bites and putting the rest aside. Even though he had just woke, the warlock still looked tired; dark smudges lined his eyes, and his blue gaze seemed to constantly drift away, focused on something in the depths of his thoughts.

Gwen immediately attempted to pull her friend from those thoughts by bringing up memories of the crazy adventures she had shared with Merlin and Arthur. Slowly, his reserved nature dissolved, and Gwen watched as he smiled, joining in the conversation over their breakfast. Unfortunately, his food remained relatively untouched. Then again, even as a servant, Merlin had never eaten much either.

By the time they finished eating, Arthur had diverted the conversation to legal matters. Recently, as a part of a negotiation between Essetir and Camelot, Arthur had gained a few of the border towns that King Lot labeled unimportant to his kingdom. One of these small towns included Ealdor, of which Merlin was extremely grateful. To Arthur's knowledge, Merlin had already sent home half of his wages, and had helped Arthur in any way he could with gathering the provisions for his people.

Their conversation on the agreement went on for some time, until Millie rose from her chair and approached the table.

"There. Here's the first tunic and some trousers," Millie handed the folded garments to the warlock, "I'll have plenty more by the end of the week."

Merlin smiled gratefully, and switched his shirt for the new one. The fabric and cut were both of better make, and Millie, Arthur, and Gwen couldn't help but notice the improvement from the warlock's shapeless attire. Unlike his threadbare tunic, the new one clung to Merlin's toned frame, making him look much less like the gangly servant he used to be.

Content with her finished product, the seamstress made quick work of packing up her equipment, said her farewell, and departed.

Now alone, Gwen bent down and rummaged through a bag Merlin hadn't noticed before.

"I almost forgot!" Gwen took a package out from the basket and handed it to Merlin. He stared at it, not moving.

"Well, go on—open it," she prompted.

His face a mask of confusion, Merlin nodded. His long fingers pulled at the string, and hesitantly pushed away the brown paper. The warlock paused, his hands hovering over the now-visible gift. His gaze shot up, locking with Gwen's.

"I-I, Gwen..." Merlin's answer came out softly, as if his breath had been taken away by the queen's kind gesture. Dropping the wrapping paper, the warlock was left with a beautifully made, red neckerchief. "I don't know what to say. Thank you," he murmured.

"There's nothing to say. After all you've done, you deserve a little spoiling," Gwen said fondly, "I've asked Millie to make a few more, as well."

The warlock stood, neckerchief still clasped in his hands, and embraced the queen.

Arthur watched the two most important people in his life with pride. The last month had included some drastic changes, but some things would always remain the same.

Merlin pulled back, a genuine smile on his face. He looked down at the gift, and slipped his hands to the end of the fabric, his nimble fingers making quick work of tying the neckerchief at the familiar place around his throat.

"Look at that, Merlin, we may make a noble out of you yet," Arthur chuckled.

The Once and Future King and Emrys smiled at each other, content to enjoy the moment of friendship.

Maybe the day wouldn't turn out to be too bad after all.

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><p>"Absolutely not!" Lord Hale thundered, "You cannot possibly think that raising taxes would help them—the outlying villages just came under our control!"<p>

"How else do you suppose we provide the money to rebuild t—"

"Certainly not taxes!"

"You'll be bankrupting them, not helping them!" Lord Alden cried.

"We'll only be bankrupting ourselves!"

Lord Godfrey huffed, "There is plenty of money in the treasury, Lord Ulfric, there's no need to be so stingy."

The aforementioned lord's cheeks turned a bright red, "Are you calling me s—"

"Well, so much for an orderly meeting," Merlin sighed, leaning towards his king.

Arthur rolled his eyes, _As if orderly was ever a description that could be used for council meetings_, he thought with frustration. They always ended in a shouting match.

"GENTLEMEN!" Arthur pounded his fists onto the table, his voice filled with stern authority. "Can we not just discuss things in an organized manner? Shouting will get us nowhere."

The king sighed as silence filled the hall, "Now, Lord Ulfric, what is your opinion on the funds for rebuilding the defenses of the border towns?"

"I believe that raising their taxes will provide us with the money for the outposts, Sire."

Merlin glanced at the Lord, opening his mouth to speak, but hesitated, before suddenly closing it.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, seeing his friend's movement,

The warlock turned his gaze to his sovereign, "I don't think that would be any benefit." His voice rang with a quiet confidence, "These towns are supplying our food, and storing some for themselves—they don't have enough money to provide for their families _and_ an increase in taxes."

Ulfric leaned towards the lord beside him, muttering a few words before he straightened, and bluntly addressed the warlock. "I see no reason why your opinion matters. It certainly doesn't concern your area of… _expertise_."

Arthur bristled, "Actually, Lord Ulfric, it concerns Merlin more than any of us. He grew up in Ealdor, one of the newly acquired towns that we are currently discussing. His opinion holds just as much weight as yours—"

The large doors of the council chamber groaned, silencing the current argument as all eyes moved their attention to the intruders.

"What is it now!" Arthur groaned, his hands splayed out on the table in exasperation. He was quickly losing his patience after spending the last hour arguing with the council.

A guard came forward, but then hesitated for a moment, unsure of the royal's mood. "Sire, we caught this Druid sneaking through one of the side doors of the castle. He says he needs to speak with the king."

The guard stepped to the side as two more men entered the room, a cloaked figure between them. The knights then stopped before the foot of the table and waited for Arthur to respond.

The king sighed, but nodded for the guards release their grip on the Druid's arms. They moved back, but their hands rested on the hilts of their swords, ready to protect their king if necessary.

Now unconstrained, the Druid bowed at the waist, first to Arthur, and then, to the council's surprise, Merlin.

"Your Majesty. Emrys."

The aforementioned warlock flushed, still uncomfortable with the obvious deference. Arthur's lips pulled up into a small smile, but he quickly cleared his throat to hide the emotion. His kingly façade in place, Arthur addressed the Druid.

"What is your name?"

"Cadan, Sire," the Druid was antsy, moving his weight from foot to foot. Merlin shifted in his chair, the Druid's nerves pricking the back of his mind, as the thoughts of untrained sorcerers often did when they were close enough to the warlock. He cocked his head to the side slightly, his hands playing with the fabric of his new tunic. Merlin was trying not to let Cadan's nervousness affect him, but he had his magic ready, just in case the nerves were more than just about speaking in front of the king.

"And what was it you needed to speak to me about, Cadan."

He paused for a moment, eyes scanning the rest of the councilmen with unease.

"These are trusted men. You can speak freely here." Arthur prodded.

Cadan nodded slowly, then, looking at Merlin, he continued.

"Amongst the clans, it is said that one of the high-ranking sorcerers of Morgana's men has taken over as her successor. Recently, he has been visiting the nearby clans requesting the strongest of sorcerers. It is assumed that he is building an army."

"Has he had any success in recruiting these clans?" Merlin asked, eyes shining with a calculated gaze. He turned his head, sharing an uneasy glance with Arthur.

"Only rogues, my lords, those who have abandoned their people and the prophecy. The clans as a whole will only side with Emrys and the Once and Future King." Passion filled Cadan's voice, spilling over into Merlin's mind in waves.

A few murmurs reached the king and his advisor. While both subjects of the prophecy were smiling at the Druids' faith, the councilmen still carried their prejudice and suspicions. The mistrust of magic was still at the heart of the kingdom, even if Merlin had demonstrated pure magic time after time.

Arthur clenched his jaw at the unfairness of it. He was the king; he shouldn't have to tolerate the blasted narrow-mindedness of the lords. He took a calming breath to ensure that his stoic mask was still in place.

"I am humbled by your people's loyalty, Cadan." Arthur's head tilted upward in a confident image of authority, "just as I am honored by your willingness to forgive my former actions against your kind."

Merlin beamed proudly at his king. Arthur's acceptance of the Druid's allegiance and of his prophetical name were only small pieces of their Destiny, and yet, Merlin couldn't help the rush of joy that ran down his spine. Things were truly changing in Camelot.

The Druid accepted the words with a nod, but his eyes shone with the fiery emotion that filled his earlier declarations.

"But I am afraid I bring more bad tidings, Sire…" Cadan's shoulders slumped, "there are whispers of a siege on Camelot, and that it will happen soon."

Silence followed. Now there was no doubt to where the enemy would come.

"Do you know when they plan on arriving?" Arthur took a deep, frustrated breath. He and Merlin had discussed the idea of a vengeful sorcerer attacking Camelot, but with the anti-sorcery laws having been repealed, most of the smaller assassination attempts had all but disappeared; however, Merlin had brought up Morgana's followers during many late night chats with the king. Now, it seemed their worries were coming to fruition.

"I regretfully do not, Sire. I apologize. This is all the information my camp has heard on Morgana's followers. But our clan seers have been talking about a battle for quite a few weeks; they say dark times are coming. There's a chill in the air, as if magic itself is on alert."

A dark and serious cloud descended on the council members as though to match the Druid's words. Arthur glanced at Merlin, did he feel this chill as well?

The warlock met his friend's gaze and nodded softly. Merlin knew all too well the feeling of what Cadan had mentioned. He had felt uneasy for the past few days, although he had been unsure as to why. Merlin mentally kicked himself for not having paid attention to his magic's warning.

"However, I also come on behalf of my people." Hope edged into the words of the visitor, pulling the room's occupants out of their distraught slump, "In three days time, a Druidic assembly will take place—representatives from dozens of clans will be there to discuss the threat of Morgana's successor, as well, I admit, to discuss Camelot's new stance on magic." Cadan paused to pull a scroll from inside his cloak. The knights behind him stiffened, and tightened their grips on their swords, but Arthur waved them off. Cadan smiled gratefully and continued. "Our world has been abuzz with talk of the Golden Age of Albion, my lords, and we wish to help in any way we can." The Druid placed the scroll on the table in front of Arthur and Merlin. The king reached for the document, and rolled it open gently. His brow furrowed. The neat marks on the page swirled in an intricate collection of symbols—the language of the Old Religion.

Merlin, smirked, and pulled the scroll closer to himself. His eyes scanned the parchment before he looked up at Cadan, and then to his king. "This is an invitation to the gathering," He said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Arthur, they want us both there to represent Camelot."

Arthur's eyebrows rose in surprise. His eyes latched onto the Druid. "You want us to come to this magical event?"

Cadan nodded. "Yes Sire. Many are hoping you accept. They are looking forward to seeing the subjects of the long awaited prophecies."

The council lords, finally catching on to the request, interjected, "Sire, is that the wisest move? If we know that there is to be a siege on Camelot, wouldn't the best course of action be to remain in the citadel? After all, your leadership, and Lord _Emrys_'-ah, protection are what give Camelot a fighting chance against these sorcerers."

Merlin winced at the sarcastic usage of his druidic name, especially as it rolled off the tongue of a non-magical being, but he quickly threw up his stoic mask, if only for the sake of Arthur's temper. Had Arthur realized how much that treatment of his title made Merlin uncomfortable, the king would lecture the councilmen until they had been thoroughly educated on Merlin's "sacrifices to the kingdom," and how he deserved more respect than the entire lot of "noble-blooded and entitled clotpoles" that sat at this table. Yes, Merlin could see Arthur handling that situation well.

The king, however, must have sensed some of Merlin's discomfort, as he frowned, addressing the speaker. "Merlin is the reason for the invitation, Lord Ulfric, and so, I must disagree. This Druid assembly is the best place to learn more about these threats, as well as to establish a better relationship with our new allies. It is the wisest move that can be made in these situations." Arthur's tone of voice left no room for disagreement, and so, the councilmen turned their eyes to the table, cowed.

"It is decided. Merlin, some of the knights, and I will accompany Cadan to the assembly. We will gather information on what we are up against, and see what can be done to prepare for a possible magical siege." Arthur concluded, signifying the close of the meeting, "Queen Guinevere will be in charge in my absence."

"Thank you, Your Highness, my people will be as much help as we can." Cadan smiled, but his eyes strayed to Merlin's, glinting with worry. _"Be careful Emrys, for there are dark times ahead for you and your king."_

The warlock acknowledged the Druid's warning with a solemn nod, but he was quickly interrupted by a playful punch to the shoulder. Arthur's small smile showed his pleasure at the magical invitation, and so, Merlin plastered a grin on his face, not wanting to ruin the historic moment for his brother.

As the council members, chattering like a bunch of gossiping maids, pushed back their chairs to leave, determination steeled Merlin's resolve.

No matter what they faced, he would protect his king, like always.

It would be both easier and more difficult to do so, now that the king and his warlock were a united force, but Merlin would ensure Arthur's safety.

Whatever it took.

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><p>AN:<p>

That's it for now! Please leave reviews and let me know what you think! If I find time to update early I will, but for now, the next update will be on or before October 31st.

Until then,

Mirror


	2. Chapter 2

Here it is, Chapter 2! And look at that, a few days early!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.**  
><strong>

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><p>Leaving the council chambers behind, Arthur walked beside his brother, the servants parting to make way for their monarch and his advisor. The king's mind swirled with questions. He let out a deep breath. "Has all of magic really been on edge? ...Is it the right thing to be attending this gathering? …And what if this siege happens while we're gone? I don't want to leave Guinevere to handle such a crisis alone."<p>

They went a ways in silence, their footsteps the only sound echoing through the corridor. Merlin opened his mouth, as if to answer the multitude of questions, but the king shook his head and began again, "I feel like everything's happening at once, like we have no time to breathe. Destiny has such high hopes for us… and I just wish I knew what to do."

The warlock nodded, completely understanding his soul-brother's inner turmoil. He stopped in the middle of the hall, laying a gentle hand on the king's shoulder, "You were meant to do this, Arthur. Everything will work out. I have faith in you."

"Well, I'm certainly not doing this alone." The king voiced.

"And you'll never have to."

Both men smiled fondly, recalling memories of the past.

"Have faith in Destiny, Arthur. It's brought us this far."

The Once and Future King nodded, placing a hand over Merlin's, which still rested on his shoulder. After a moment, their hands returned to their sides, and the king and warlock resumed their walk.

"We'll need to talk about what happened in there, and plan for what's coming. Though I'm afraid all of that will have to wait till this evening. I'm going now to meet Leon on the training field."

"Good idea. See what he thinks of about that guard of sorcerers you mentioned earlier." Merlin's voice, while still upbeat, lacked the bright enthusiasm that he had had that morning.

Arthur glanced at Merlin, a frown marring his features as he focused on the dark circles that rimmed his former servant's eyes. "I will. You should find your mother, I'm sure she's waiting for you." He paused, "Maybe get some rest, too."

Merlin nodded, swallowing a retort on Arthur's last suggestion.

The king stopped as the corridor forked off into two directions, knowing that he was heading one way, and the warlock the other. Arthur's lips pulled into a smile, "Alright, now off with you… and don't be late for dinner!"

"Ok, ok, I'm going!" Merlin exclaimed, narrowly escaping the king's light punch.

The warlock let out a laugh as he continued down hall, leaving Arthur behind. As he made his way through the castle corridors, Merlin smiled at the prospect of seeing his mother. His thoughts flashed back to the week after Arthur legalized magic.

* * *

><p>He had been organizing his new tower, placing some of the books on the curved shelves lining the walls, when he heard someone enter.<p>

Assuming it was another servant, Merlin continued his task.

"Just place the books on the table," He called, his back to the door as he precariously balanced on the bookcase ladder. "I'll sort them from there."

The response came a second later, in the form of a familiar chuckle and loving voice, "Not even a proper greeting for your own mother!"

Merlin whirled around, the books toppling over on the shelf, all but forgotten with the arrival of his visitor. "Mother!"

The warlock practically flew across the room, jumping down from the ladder and making his way to his mother's open arms.

"Oh Merlin," Hunith whispered, her body shaking silently in his embrace. "I came as soon as I could."

"I'm glad you're here," he breathed, "I've missed you." Merlin felt his mother's hot tears as they leaked though his shirt.

He pulled back, his gaze searching his mother's face for signs of distress. "Mother?" Concern filled his voice, "is something wrong?"

She let out a small laugh, her watery eyes shining, "No my son, everything is perfect."

Hunith cradled his face in her hands, "you are finally_ free_."

Her tone was filled with the awe and happiness that could only be found in a mother who saw her greatest hopes for her child coming true.

Tears blurred his vision, but Merlin tilted his head, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, "Ah, so you got my letter."

"Of course I got your letter!" she let out a choked laugh, playfully smacking her son's bicep as she lowered her arms to rest comfortably on his hips, "And Arthur's."

Merlin raised an eyebrow in surprise, he hadn't known about Arthur sending a letter.

Just then, the warlock heard a faint shuffle from across the room.

Arthur stood in the doorway, arms crossed, with a soft smile on his face.

Merlin, looking over his mother's shoulders, met the king's eyes just as he seemed to step back into the hall. The young warlock frowned,

"And where do you think you're going, you prat?"

His mother turned around, realizing they were no longer alone.

Arthur looked startled, unsure of how to respond.

They stared at each other for a moment, the silence speaking the words between them. Merlin pursed his lips, rolling his eyes at Arthur, "Well, are you coming in or not?"

"I—I don't want to intrude."

Hunith chose that moment to intervene. Still holding on to her son's waist with one hand, she beckoned for the king to enter, "You're always welcome here, Your Majesty."

"Just Arthur, Hunith." Arthur strolled forward, though in a more reserved manner than the confident king normally would enter a room with. "Merlin has always used my name, I don't expect his mother to do anything less."

"Arthur it is then." She smiled, a warm, motherly smile that seemed to disarm the king's anxiousness.

"Or you could call him a prat," Merlin winked at his mother, his lips mischievously pulling up at the corners, "that always seems to get his attention faster."

"Oh Merlin, don't be so rude!" Hunith scolded, but her eyes betrayed her understanding. She knew the king and her son—Arthur's prophesied protector, had the strangest but deepest of bonds.

As Arthur came to stand in front of the small family, slightly unsure of himself, the warlock cocked his head to the side, his warm eyes filled with fondness. Then, sliding his gaze over to his mother, Merlin smiled; he knew that look, what she was thinking. Merlin let go of his mother and backed away, and Hunith instantly moved forward. Then, with the same gentle touch she had used with her own son, she wrapped her arms around the king. "You are part of this family," she murmured into his ear, "remember that."

Arthur nodded, knowing that words would fail him if he tried to speak. He had never known a mother's love, or heartfelt embrace. He only new of the sacrificial love in which Ygraine gave up her life for the life of her son. But in this moment, with arms awkwardly wrapped around Hunith in an unfamiliar gesture, the young king's secret desire for a mother's love was the closest it had ever been to fulfillment. He felt at home, just as he felt when gazing into the eyes of his friend, or when Merlin's warm, electrifying magic filled the air and blanketed him in its comforting presence.

When Hunith released the king, he stepped back with a small cough. Merlin shot him a knowing glance, smiling at his brother's slight discomfort. Arthur had never known a mother's love, but now, it seemed as though he would. After all, it was only natural that his soul brother—the one who held the deepest connection with Merlin, would be included as family in Hunith's eyes.

The young men stood there, staring, and absorbing the comforting silence, until Hunith moved, sitting down at the table. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she motioned to her son. "Now, tell me everything."

* * *

><p>The warlock's thoughts returned to the present as he reached a door just down the hall from his tower. Giving a small, very un-Merlin-like knock as a warning, Merlin pushed it open and entered the room.<p>

Sitting by the hearth of the spacious bedchambers, Hunith looked up from the book she was reading. Warmth spread through the warlock's body at the sight of her smile.

"Ah, Merlin! How did the council meeting go today?" She closed the book, resting it on the table beside her as she gave her son her undivided attention.

"As well as to be expected, I suppose." He sighed, sinking onto the couch next to her. "I came out physically unscathed, so that's always a good sign." A small grin appeared on the warlock's face, but the emotion didn't reach his eyes.

"It will get better." Hunith brushed the stray locks away from his face, "just look at how far you've already come."

Merlin felt another wave of thankfulness for his mother's decision to stay in Camelot. With Ealdor now under Camelot's rule, Hunith knew that her village would be provided for, and so, she decided to move closer to her son—into the castle, at Guinevere's insistence.

Her presence was just what Merlin needed.

"I know. I just… sometimes it just seems like I'm fighting a losing battle—half the council is pining for my death, most of the servants are uncomfortable being anywhere near me, and those who used to be my friends won't even look at me… after the initial feast, everyone seemed to remember their prejudice against sorcery." He sighed.

"Most of the people are just nervous. They'll come around, you'll see."

Merlin scoffed, "Gwaine says it'll take me saving Camelot for that to happen." Merlin intertwining and separating his fingers absentmindedly, and then added, "…Then again, maybe that's not too far off."

Hunith's eyes narrowed, "Has something happened?"

"A Druid delivered news of a possible attack from one of Morgana's men." He rubbed a hand over his face, "Arthur and I have been invited to a Druid assembly, to represent Camelot to the magical community. It's a huge step, but we're still such a long way from peace."

"Have faith in your Destiny, my son, and take each event as it comes." She responded with her sage and motherly wisdom, "I know that you're tired Merlin, it's been a rough couple of weeks. You need to get some rest."

It was moments like these, listening to the details of her son's destiny, when she realized he was no longer her little boy. She looked at her son, noticing the finer material of his shirt, and the way it laid over his arms and lithe chest, accentuating the muscular frame that had appeared from years of hard labor and then a decade of training with King Arthur. The way her son held himself, too, had changed. The innocent, clumsy boy that left Ealdor years ago had grown up, leaving a confident, strong man in his place. She was so proud of what her Merlin had become, not giving in to the hatred often found in those with magic, and rejected by society, but instead, becoming one of the kindest, and best examples of sorcerers.

But since Camlann, he had been wearing himself down. Her special son, the Emrys of legend, could only handle so much before he broke; his magic was limitless, but his body and heart were not.

"I've slept enough, there will be time for more later." Merlin waved off his mother's concern, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his words.

"Are you still having nightmares?" Hunith asked gently.

"Mother…"

She frowned. He always tried to hide it from her, never wanting to show the vulnerability that lay behind the cheery mask. Hunith stared at him for a long moment.

"Yes," he finally admitted, "but not as often. They're getting better."

She kissed his forehead, willing to be there to simply listen.

It was this loving gesture that broke Merlin's resolve. His smiling mask slipped, revealing a distraught young warlock.

"It's hard," he continued, "to convince myself that he's ok—that I didn't fail. I wake up, knowing that it was only a nightmare… but it just seems so real…"

Merlin trailed off, his eyes focusing on a distant point, lost in the recollection of dreams. "I've walked to his rooms, you know." His voice was filled with raw emotion, and yet at the same time, it was seemingly detached from the young man before her. "A few times, they were so bad… Gaius—he, he couldn't convince me Arthur was ok, so I went to his chambers." Merlin let out a tired, almost manic chuckle. "He was there, of course, every time. But I couldn't rest until I saw Arthur with my own eyes…" he ended with a sigh.

Hunith placed her hand on her son's knee, intertwining her fingers with his other hand, "You just need time." She said softly, "After your father fled Ealdor, I used to dream of him—about the night he left; I imagined him running from Uther's men, all alone. And then, after I had you, I used to have nightmares of the knights coming for my baby, taking you away from me, or of an execution... It was rough, the first few years, but time heals. Eventually, Camlann will fade from your dreams." She squeezed his hand, rubbing her thumb over his fingers in a calmingly familiar fashion, "Until then, you must stay strong. Do not let it defeat you." Her love and passion infused her words with so much emotion, that Merlin felt tears prick at the sides of his eyes.

A fierce wave of protectiveness washed over Merlin as he listened to his mother. He couldn't imagine raising a son—a magically powerful one, no less—alone and in a small village close to Camelot's borders. She was the strongest person he knew, and it was this strength that gave him faith.

He was chosen by the Old Religion to help Arthur bring about the Golden Age for a reason. He had been plagued with self-doubt for years, struggling with the image of a monster, and a Destiny he thought he wasn't strong enough for. But no more. Arthur had learned of his secret, and accepted him for who he was; Gwen, and the knights respected his loyalty to the king, and treated Merlin the same as before—as his friends.

He was traveling Destiny's path with Arthur, his brother in all but blood. And while there were still those who shunned him, Merlin had known all his life that there would always be lost causes to his magic. He was ready to prove himself to them, but at the same time, he was ready to move on and live. He was free to be himself for the first time in his life, and Merlin refused to let doubts ground him any longer.

He was ready to soar.

Hunith, very perceptive of her son's many contemplative states, smiled. She saw the determination his gaze, and the set of his shoulders. Merlin reminded her so much of Balinor—he had possessed the same quiet confidence, and the same loving nature. Her heart swelled with pride in her son.

"Alright Merlin, go get some rest. I'll wake you after a few hours." With her mothering voice, Merlin knew better than to refuse. He nodded, getting up slowly, and stretching his back.

"A few hours." The warlock repeated, "We're having dinner with Arthur and Gwen tonight, so don't let me sleep too late."

"Just let me worry about that. Now, off you go." Hunith directed her son to her own bed, knowing that, at the moment, he wouldn't want to nap in his secluded tower. Merlin chuckled, and flopped down onto the mattress, curling his hands behind his head. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, submitting to the exhaustion of his body. Hunith stayed in her reading chair, watching the rise and fall of Merlin's chest until, after a few minutes, his breathing became slower and more rhythmic in the patterns of sleep. Hunith smiled. While Merlin and Arthur still had a long way to go, her son was on the mend, and things could only get better.

* * *

><p>Arthur and Gwen sat together, waiting for their two dinner guests to join them. In the last month, they had moved the night's meals to the smaller and more private dining room, giving the royals the opportunity to sit closer than was proper, as well as to just be themselves.<p>

Two servants occupied the back of the room, standing beside the trays of food, waiting for the rest of the diners to arrive.

The king gazed at his wife, marveling at his luck. Gwen was truly his other half. Moments like these brought him back to a month ago, when, if Camlann had gone at it was intended by fate, she would have been sitting at the table alone. Arthur's lips pulled into a frown at the thought. Gwen saw her husband's distress, and moved her hand to his lap. He took the hand, and squeezed it gently. There were no words that needed to be said between them; ever since the battle, they had merely taken comfort in their closeness and loving glances.

After a few more moments, the doors creaked open, announcing the arrival of Gaius, Merlin, and Hunith.

The king cast a critical gaze over his friend, instantly noticing the straightness of his shoulders, the smile that reached his bright eyes, and the spring in his step.

Cheerful, confident Merlin had returned.

He released a sigh of relief, greeting Hunith with a grateful smile—which he quickly hid, and turned his attention back on his soul-brother.

"I thought I told you not to be late?" Arthur teased.

In all reality, he didn't mind the few minutes if it meant Merlin had gotten some more sleep. He knew the last month had been hard for him, and the frequent visits the warlock made to his chambers at late hours of the night spoke of the lack of peaceful sleep he had been getting. Though Arthur also knew that the warlock had visited the royal chambers more than he let on. Gaius had told the king not to be alarmed if he woke up to his door opening, or to any other sounds a warlock in distress might be making in a nightmare-filled haze.

Of course, Arthur had tried to let Merlin deal with it as much as he could on his own, but sometimes, the king woke and walked with him back to his new chambers, unable to stay in bed while his brother suffered.

Arthur shook those thoughts from his mind as he felt another wave of gratitude towards Hunith. She was a godsend; a mother's intuition and special touch was exactly what Merlin needed to deal with these nightmares.

"You know I never do as I'm told," Merlin grinned, the comment earning a grunt from Gaius. The warlock pulled a chair out for his mother, and once she was seated next to the physician, took his own place at Arthur's right hand. Although they weren't in the public eye, Merlin's position at the king's side just seemed right, no matter the occasion.

"Don't I know it," Arthur responded, "though after all those times I caught you stealing my food, I find it hard to believe you'd be late for a meal." He motioned for the servants to bring the food over, and at once, plates were being placed in front of the five individuals. The king's gaze lit up at the prospect of filling his empty stomach, but looking to his right, the thought of food was all but out of his mind. The young boy serving Merlin was trembling, the plates in his hands rattling as he set them on the table. Usually there were two servants in the room, however, they were two whom Merlin had befriended long ago, and were still loyal to their cheeky warlock.

Arthur wasn't aware that one of them had been called home for a family matter, and had another servant substitute in his place. He did know, however, that this servant was not one of those who were comfortable with Merlin's gifts.

Everyone in the room felt the fear that radiated from the boy, and Arthur was forced to clench his jaw and remain quiet. The last time he had tried to intervene between the staff and Merlin, the warlock had been thoroughly embarrassed, and annoyed, to say the least.

Arthur watched in tense silence, waiting for Merlin to make his move. Slowly, his brother's arms came out from under the table and took the plates from the servant. The boy jumped, startled at the near contact he had made with the sorcerer. Merlin's face remained impassive, but his eyes shined with patience and what Arthur had come to call "Dragoon's" wisdom.

"You're new to the staff, aren't you?" The soft question brought the shaking servant to look at Merlin.

He simply nodded, his teeth pulling nervously at his lips.

"Well, then, welcome to Camelot." Merlin's smile did little to ease Arthur's annoyance, but it seemed to disarm the boy slightly. The warlock angled his head towards the plates and continued, "I know how heavy those can be, and so I hope you don't mind that I helped out a bit."

"Not at all, Lord Emrys." The serving boy's voice was a bit shaky, but his body was held with a bit more ease than before. Arthur turned his attention back to his brother, to notice Merlin's flinch.

"Just Merlin, please. I'm sure you've heard, but I used to be a servant just like you," Merlin smiled, "and contrary to what many people have decided about me, I'm still that same servant now—just with a slightly different job description." The warlock winked at the boy, and then gave him an encouraging nod to continue with his duties.

Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, and Hunith—as well as the young kitchen maid who normally served the table, waited with bated breath to see what the boy would do.

"Merlin, then." The boy nodded, a slight smile on his face as he backed away to retrieve the pitcher. Although his hands still shook, they were much steadier now.

Everyone in the room instantly relaxed, breathing sighs of relief. Merlin looked down at his plate, his lips turned up and eyes closed. As the others began to eat, Arthur watched his brother's kaleidoscopic eyes blink open a moment later, shining with happiness.

If a tear fell, the king would deny he ever saw it—Merlin deserved that much. The interaction with the young boy was a promise of a better future. It may take a while, but the people would eventually overcome their fear and accept the warlock. Until then, Arthur would be there to support him.

"So, it seems Merlin and I will be going on an adventure." The king started the conversation, dragging out the syllables of the first few words.

"Oh? Does it have something to do with the Druid that had an audience with you this afternoon?" Gaius tilted his head in curiosity, looking across from him at the head of the table.

"Indeed it does. We were invited to the Druid's assembly." Arthur moved his palms skyward in a giving-up gesture, his silverware gripped lightly in both hands. "What that is, exactly, I have no idea—the invitation was written in gibberish, but according to Merlin, it's a step towards peace."

"It's the language of the Old Religion, Arthur, not _gibberish_." Merlin pointed out, rolling his eyes towards his sovereign. "And it is a step towards peace. A big one. We'll have the opportunity to meet clan leaders from all over the kingdom."

"Merlin's right, Sire, the assembly is attended by the most influential members of the magical community. If you want to convince the Druids that Camelot truly means to welcome magic, and not just tolerate it, this is the perfect opportunity." Gaius agreed, his face showing his own excitement at the invitation. It had been a long time since he had heard of the Druid gathering, and that news of such an event had reached Camelot, was clearly something to celebrate in his eyes.

Arthur nodded, taking in the physician's wise words with quiet contemplation. He had seen how magic had brought Gaius "back to life." In the last few weeks, the physician had been joyful, and the affects of age had simply seemed to stop bothering the old man. It was a true happiness, one that Gaius hadn't enjoyed since before the years of the Great Purge. The king's lips pulled upwards, recalling the last few times he had been to the Physician's chambers, only to find the old man humming as he worked. Yes, the repeal of the ban had done as much for Gaius as it had his ward.

Arthur took a few bites from his meal, only half listening to the fork clinking on the dinnerware, that is, until his wife spoke up from his left.

"When is this gathering taking place?"

"In three days," Merlin piped in, "Cadan—the Druid—told me that the meeting is usually held close by; it would probably take around day's ride to get there, so we really should leave tomorrow."

"Do you not know the location of this assembly?" Hunith picked up on her son's vague wording.

Merlin shook his head and pulled the scroll from his jacket, holding it in the air before placing it on the table, "No, the invitation only gives broad instructions."

Gaius took the document from his ward, and unrolled the parchment, his eyes skimming over the symbols, "It seems to only give a general direction—north. It simply reads that you will be given 'further instruction' when you get closer."

"That's it? Isn't that a bit dangerous—heading out without a set destination?" Gwen set her fork down, and placed her hands on her lap, her fingers twisting together nervously.

"Not necessarily. This method has worked for the Druid people for centuries of gatherings; it's simply a matter of precaution, my dear. Nothing to worry about." Gaius answered in a breezy tone of voice.

"I'm afraid we may Gaius, just not about that." Arthur had hoped to avoid this discussion until after dinner, but seeing as they were together and already talking about their trip, it would be pointless to wait, "Cadan also warned us of an attack on Camelot. One of Morgana's men has been visiting the Druids, trying to recruit an army."

"An army of sorcerers is to come here, to Camelot?" Gwen frowned, unease shining in her eyes.

The king nodded in affirmation.

"And they have no idea when this attack will happen?"

Arthur shook his head, "That is the only information Cadan had, but it was enough to worry us all." He sighed, thinking of his queen, "I hesitate to leave you here, under such circumstances."

Gwen gave him a soft smile, removing her hands from her lap, and placing them on Arthur's forearm. "I will be fine, Arthur. As will Camelot. You have nothing to fear; Gaius and I can handle the preparations and council until your return."

A small chuckle made it's way out of Arthur's throat, "I have no doubt about that. You were born to be a queen."

Merlin grinned at the ring of truth in the king's comment, his mouth hidden behind the rim of his goblet.

Gaius too, understood the joke Merlin had found, and with a slight smile added, "Just worry about keeping yourselves out of trouble, we can take care of Camelot."

Taking another quick sip and placing the goblet back on the table, the warlock glanced up, meeting the determined gaze of his father figure.

"That includes remembering to eat, Merlin," Hunith added, motioning to her son's plate.

"_Mother_," Merlin whined, sending an annoyed glance at Gaius, "That was one time."

The group clearly remembered the incident—Hunith through reading it in one of her correspondences with Gaius, Gwen through her husband, and Arthur through personal experience. Gaius had been away, and the busy warlock had forgotten to eat dinner and breakfast before joining the knights on a patrol. The whole thing ended up quite memorable, as they had assumed when the manservant tipped off his horse, it had been the result of an arrow or bolt. The knights had scattered, swords ready and searching for an enemy, only for Arthur to announce that Merlin had simply passed out. Since then, the servant-turned-Court Sorcerer had been constantly reminded to eat, and teased over his lack of self-preservation.

"Yes, well, for an idiot like you, once is enough." Arthur's eyebrows rose in his pointed banter.

Merlin scoffed, turning his attention back to his food. He had barely touched it, but then again, the original serving size had been enough for two Arthur's—the hungry kind of king, after he had come back from a long patrol, or an unreasonably long and boring council meeting.

The warlock took a few more bites, and then sat back in his chair, listening to the conversation around him; the topic of siege and war being all but forgotten in the memories floating around on the soft laughter of the group.

Sometimes he still couldn't believe that he was finally free—that the people next to him, the ones he held in the deepest recesses of his heart, truly accepted his magic. It was phenomenal, really, that he had been able to change the visions he had seen, saving Arthur and beginning the journey to uniting Albion. And then, Arthur had put aside years of lies and decades of hatred for sorcerers, only to ennoble his friend and manservant, and reconcile the two lives Merlin had always led. That night, with Destiny smiling on them, Merlin and King Arthur had truly become brothers. With Arthur at his side, Merlin felt like he could do anything.

The other half of his soul; the other side of his coin.

His king, the Once and Future.

The warlock looked up from his plate, catching the gaze of his soul-brother. No words were necessary for communication—just a slight nod of Arthur's head showed that he understood. Brotherly love and pride filled the king's eyes, he too zoning out of the conversation as Gwen began retelling a memory from the time when she had been a servant, Arthur a prince, and Merlin a shadow. So many things had changed since those early days. Each had found where they were meant to be, becoming a compassionate queen, a worthy king, and a soaring hawk. No longer did the warlock have to hide in the shadows, grounded like a bird with a broken wing; he was now able to fly in the light, his soul as free as a bird—a _merlin_.

He had Arthur to thank for that. And now, they were given the opportunity to meet with the highest members of the magical community, and the king was _excited_. Destiny had great plans for them, and this was only the beginning.

Merlin couldn't wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

So, what'd you think? I love hearing from you guys, so let me know!

Now that I've got the groundwork and some of the emotional stuff out of the way (but who doesn't love some feels, I mean, really?) the story's can really begin. The plot's starting to pick up, so we'll see plenty more adventure, bromance, and hurt/comfort in the following chapters.

My college workload is getting pretty heavy, but if all goes according to plan, the next update should be on or before November 14th.

Until then,

Mirror


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

* * *

><p>Merlin met his mother, Gwen, and Gaius at the top of the steps, blinking at the bright sunlight peeking around one of the towers. With this staff in one hand, the warlock set his traveling sack by his feet.<p>

His mentor stepped forward, "Safe travels, my boy." Merlin nodded and wrapped his free arm around the physician, inhaling the familiar scent of drying herbs and aged parchment, and then releasing him after a moment.

"Merlin." The warlock turned, as Hunith murmured his name softly. Taking his face into her hands, she blinked away tears, a watery smile poorly concealing her worry, "I'm so proud of you, my son."

"None of that now, mother," He reached up, wiping a tear away with a brush of his thumb, "we'll be back in no time."

Merlin lingered for a few seconds, and then finally stepped in front of Gwen. "I'll keep him out of trouble." His voice laced with determination. "Don't worry Gwen."

"I know you will, Merlin." She hugged him quickly, then pulled back, her hands gripping the warlock's arms. Her swift movements betraying her anxiety, she locked eyes with Merlin, "Just make sure you come back too."

He smiled, but they both knew that if it came to it, Arthur would be the warlock's first priority.

"Don't I always?" His cheeky response came with a wink. Gwen watched as her best friend picked up the bag, and with one last glance, descended the stairs toward his waiting companions.

As the warlock made his way across the courtyard, the king's voice reached his ears,

"How much stuff did you pack, _Mer_lin, because I can't think of a single excuse for why you're late." Arthur drawled from atop his horse, dressed in his chainmail with Excalibur sheathed in the saddle, and the red cloak of Camelot draped over his shoulders and the mount.

The sun cast its shadows across the castle steps, signifying the afternoon hour of their departure. Cadan had been given a horse, and now he too, looked on as the late arrival acknowledged the king.

Merlin huffed, his staff clicking on the courtyard's cobblestones as he walked with one bag slung over his shoulder, and another larger pack in his right hand. "Well Sire, we can't all have someone to pack our things for us." He lifted the bag in his grasp slightly higher, knowing that the king would recognize it as his own. Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but a voice from his left beat him to it.

"Sorry mate, but that excuse won't work for you this time. You packed _that_ bag of your own free will, but now that you're Court Sorcerer, you technically could have had a servant help you with _your_ packing." Gwaine chuckled, giving the warlock a shrug of his shoulders when the young man scowled petulantly back at him.

Leon and Percival joined in with their own laughter, enjoying the familiar excitement of setting off on a quest; they hadn't so much as left Camelot for a hunt since the battle at Camlann. It felt good—right, even, to be with their brothers and to fall back into their camaraderie; and even though the situation was partially due to an impending siege on the citadel, this journey was also about the gathering. This was about their future, and about the two people that would build it: Emrys and the Once and Future King.

Merlin, muttering something about prats and enchanted wardrobes, handed the king's pack over to a servant, and then made his way over to his waiting horse. Pulling himself into the saddle, Merlin patted the mare's side gently, "Hey girl, how've you been? You're looking as gorgeous as ever; the last few weeks of rest have been good for you." He cooed to the animal.

The brown horse whinnied in response, shaking its head and mane, and making the reins in Merlin's hand tremble.

"Ready for another adventure, Lottie?" The warlock smiled.

"Alright Merlin, stop acting like such a girl, and let's get a move on. We have to get as far as we can before the sun sets." With one last wave to Gwen, Arthur prodded his horse past his former manservant, and playfully shoved Merlin as he cantered by.

"Prat." Merlin muttered, clicking his tongue and tapping the reigns lightly against Lottie's neck, following his brother out of the city walls and into the woods.

* * *

><p>The group traveled swiftly in a northerly direction, moving through the trees at a comfortable speed well into the evening. Most of the trip included a running commentary from Gwaine, who sat atop his horse, a sunny grin on his face and a suspicious looking flask in his hand,<p>

"Sir Gwaine, is that _meade_?" Arthur's incredulous voice rose above the clinking of chain mail and horse hooves.

"Exactly right Princess," the roguish knight took a quick swig, and then held the arm with the flask out wide, indicating his present location, "the perfect accompaniment to a stroll through the forest with my best mates."

"Is this really the time for a drink?" Merlin's eyebrows rose in question, his eyes shining with barely contained laughter.

"My friend, any time is the perfect time for a drink of Camelot's finest."

Merlin chuckled, shaking his head, while from his left side Arthur gave a deep, almost exasperated sigh, "We are trying to put our best foot forward in meeting the Druids, Gwaine," the king spoke as though he were explaining to a child, "a drunk knight is not what I had in mind."

The knight simply shrugged, "Don't worry, I can hold my liquor, unlike some of you lot."

Arthur smirked, rolling his eyes, "Yes, well, Merlin is a bit of a lightweight."

"Excuse me!" The warlock protested.

Arthur thought back to all the times he had been in a tavern with Merlin, or where drinks had been in the vicinity. He only ever remembered Merlin nursing one cup in each sitting, and certainly never enough to get drunk. How had he ever fallen for Gaius's 'in the tavern' excuses? The more Arthur thought about it, the more he couldn't believe how stupid he had been. Although Arthur always teased Merlin about it, the warlock never got drunk.

But, the look on his knight's face told a different story.

The king looked at Gwaine questionably, "When have you ever seen Merlin drunk?"

"It was only one time!" The warlock interrupted.

The other knights chuckled as their friend's voice rose an octave.

"It was quite an experience," Percival added, his horse coming beside Gwaine's as the forested path broke into a small meadow.

"Wait, you were there too?!" Arthur blinked rapidly, both due to the brightness of the open space and his surprise at the knights' story.

Leon winked at Merlin, which only caused the warlock to become more exasperated, and then smirked, "It's not something easily forgotten."

"Haven't been able to get more than a drink in him since then." Gwaine said wistfully.

Arthur groaned, "Why have I never heard of this?"

"Because it was one time, and I'll not let it happen again," Merlin explained quickly and a bit sourly.

"Oh come on mate, loosen up a little," Gwaine complained, holding the "Oh" as he exhaled the words.

Merlin's lips pulled into a thin line, and he said simply, "That's exactly what I don't want to happen."

At their friend's tone of voice, the knights lost their joking attitudes, and fell into a confused silence.

Percival's brow was scrunched in thought, "What do you mean, Merlin?"

Merlin sighed, and swiped a hand over his face. He didn't really mean to slip into any type of self-reflection, but the knights had caused him to share his worry.

"Well, when I was younger, I had a hard time controlling my magic. Sometimes, it just sort of happened before I could stop it. I spent a lot of time learning to handle it." Merlin shrugged, trying to explain the years of hardship without going too deep, "intoxicating myself totally messes up my control. Gaius says that when I went out with you all that one night, and I came home drunk, I was lifting all sorts of things and floating them around the room. If I had lost control earlier, and that had happened while I was in the tavern…" Merlin broke off, knowing the knights would get the picture. His secret would've been revealed to a full tavern of law-abiding Camelotians.

Arthur cringed. Once again Merlin's secret had caused the warlock to miss out on the normalcy of life. He could never relax and enjoy a few drinks with his friends, without worrying what the liquid would do to his magic. And if Uther had still been king—hell, if it had been_ him_ on that throne, before the life-changing battle of Camlann opened his eyes, he might have gone along with the crowd and their chants for a sorcerer's blood—_no_, not just _any_ sorcerer, but _Merlin's_ blood.

He shuddered at the thought.

"Is magic always that hard to control?" Leon asked, surprised. Though magic had been a presence in Camelot for the last few weeks, it was still a subject that was not widely conversed about. As such, the citizens of the Camelot remained in the dark on the subject of the Old Religion, though that was slowly being addressed and changed.

Cadan spoke up, "Not for the average sorcerer, no. Usually, a sorcerer has to summon the magic from around them in order to perform a spell."

The knight jumped slightly in his saddle, forgetting that the Druid was a part of the convoy. Cadan pulled his horse beside Arthur's head knight and continued, "But Emrys is different."

The group's heads swiveled to the aforementioned warlock, smiling as Merlin blushed. Merlin huffed in embarrassment, but dipped his head toward the Druid in acknowledgement of the truth he had spoken. "Well, I'm not exactly average, as you already know. I _am_ magic. The magic I use comes from inside of me—it's instinctual."

The knights nodded, remembering what Gaius had told them the evening Merlin and Arthur returned from the Isle.

"Sometimes it seems to have a mind of it's own. Though I now have much more control over it than I did in Ealdor, there are still times when my magic gets the best of me." The warlock's eyes took on a faraway look and his face reddened slightly. Arthur grinned. He knew that look; the warlock was no doubt thinking of some embarrassing memories his magic had caused.

"I'd love to hear some of those stories, mate." Gwaine voiced excitedly, already imagining a small farm boy's adventures.

Arthur snorted. With Merlin's clumsiness and uncontrollable magic, there were probably quite a few stories.

"You know, Hunith was having a similar conversation with Guinevere the other day, and I managed to overhear more than a couple interesting tales."

Merlin groaned. "I told her not to say anything!"

"Well apparently you told Hunith to keep those stories from the knights… Queen Guinevere is not a knight." Arthur winked, enjoying his brother's scowl.

The warlock muttered something about loopholes under his breath as the king gleefully began the retelling of embarrassing tales.

It was going to be a long ride.

* * *

><p>Daylight wore on as the Camelot royal, sorcerers, and knights rode through the trees. The king was involved in relating a childhood prank he had once pulled on Gaius. Leon listened from a few feet behind Arthur and Merlin, who were leading the group, and occasionally added a few details that may have slipped from the younger man's mind. Merlin was smiling, imagining the type of response the prince had likely gotten from the physician.<p>

As Arthur's conversation continued though, Merlin found himself drawn away, feeling as though someone was touching the edge of his consciousness, like when Kilgharrah or a Druid would mind-speak to him. He reached for the connection, but it shied away from him—a presence just beyond his reach.

Merlin couldn't quite grasp the feeling, and so, he opened his mouth, ready to announce this sensation to his soul-brother, feeling uneasy about a possible magical attacker. But, before he could, the flicker became a wave, and slammed into his mind like a stone wall.

The warlock stiffened, inhaling sharply through his nose.

"Merlin?" The voice of his king sounded as though it was underwater.

Merlin stared straight ahead, a pressure building up behind his eyes—which were unable to focus on the forest or his companions; instead, a jumbled series of places flashed as images through his mind. The warlock gasped as the unexpected barrage, and then shut his eyes, concentrating on the pictures. Eventually the flurry of glowing pathways slowed, and Merlin was able to make out the intent of the message: instructions. The Druids in charge of the gathering had sent him the specific location of their campsite.

"...—lin?!"

Merlin was jolted out of his thoughts as a pair of hands roughly shook him in his saddle. The warlock's eyes flew open and locked on to his kingly disturbance.

"Merlin? Can you hear me?" Arthur's worried gaze swept over his brother, confusion evident in the lines of his face, and protectiveness in the stiff set of his arms and hands—which still held the former servant's arm in their grasp. "What the hell was that?!"

Merlin shook his head, clearing the mental fog. "I-ah. It was the Druids… they told me the way to reach the gathering."

The king's eyebrows rose slightly, and his lips pulled into a thin line, as if unsure of whether or not to take the warlock at his word. Arthur's horse shuffled in the leaves, expressing its readiness to move on, but the king ignored it, gripping the reigns in an experienced hand. He looked at Merlin with a studying gaze.

"I'm serious. It was quite an impressive collection of images, a bit overwhelming really." Merlin moved his hands from the pommel of the saddle and placed them over Arthur's. "I'm fine."

Arthur scoffed. Those two words nearly always covered up Merlin's true feelings; whether it was sickness, injury, or a mental struggle, the warlock continuously hid behind the assurance, hoping to sway the attention away from himself.

"Arthur." Merlin's calm statement brought the king to look one more time at his former servant. He seemed ok, if that was anything for Arthur to go by.

The king took a deep breath, and after staring into Merlin's clear blue eyes, the tension left Arthur's shoulders, and he nodded in affirmation.

"Alright." Arthur removed his hands from underneath the warlock's and then leaned over, whacked him upside the head. "You should've told me something like this would happen, you're the magic expert."

"Well I've never exactly had directions given telepathically like that before, so I didn't know what to expect." Merlin smirked.

"But you expected _something_," Arthur stated, motioning absently with his free hand, "I mean, honestly Merlin, any type of warning would've been better than thinking you're having some kind of attack."

"Worried, were we?" Merlin pulled the reins into a more commanding hold, a smirk growing on his face.

"Of course not," the king huffed, "but how awkward would it be for me, if I had to show up at this magical meeting with the guest of honor draped over the side of his horse? How'd that be for first impressions?"

"Well good thing we don't have to worry about that then." Merlin replied, the familiar banter pulling his thoughts together more clearly. The warlock chuckled at the scowl planted on Arthur's features, and then kicked the horse into movement, calling out loud enough for the other to hear. "Alright then you lot, follow me."

The king looked back at the knights, who were spurring their rides forward. Arthur frowned, noticing the individual not displaying Camelot red. He gripped his reins tighter and then pulled up beside the warlock.

"Merlin,"

"Hmm?" Merlin hummed in response.

"Why didn't Cadan react the same way—to the Druid's message, I mean? He has magic, so shouldn't he have gotten the instructions as well?"

The warlock bit into his bottom lip, thinking over the question. "Well, I'm not entirely sure, to be honest." Merlin cast a glance over his shoulder, locating the Druid in conversation with Gwaine. "I'll have to ask him about it when we're camped."

Arthur nodded, knowing that was the best he was going to get.

After a few seconds of listening to the horses' rhythmic hoof beats hitting the damp earth, the king looked to his friend. "So, uh, now that we know the exact location of this place, where is it, exactly?"

Merlin took one hand off the reins and motioned to the path ahead, "The camp is near the end of the forest, closer to Annis' lands." The warlock's lips tugged into a grin that, to the king, often accompanied a shrug and an educated guess pouring from his mouth, "I would assume that's due to the support Annis has showed in Camelot's new laws concerning magic; the Druids see her as less of a threat."

Arthur smiled as his brother's shoulders went up in a shrug, just as he had predicted. The king responded with a fake exasperated expression on his face, "Annis' territory begins about a two days ride from where we are, _Mer_lin. Could you be more specific?"

Merlin glanced at Arthur. The king's tone was only slightly tinged with annoyance, and by looking at his eyes, the warlock found them shining with a teasing glint. Picking up on the banter, Merlin put on his best indignant and hurt façade, and then quipped,

"Well I'm terribly sorry to not have described every inch of your kingdom to you, Sire, I was only thinking that it would save time if I relied on your knowledge of the area instead of having to explain everything. But, now I see I was terribly wrong to have thought so highly of that brain of yours. Haven't been wearing your helmet when sparring, have we?" Merlin's voice took on the lilt of a parent scolding a child, and only to dig himself into a deeper hole, the warlock clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, "tsk, tsk, tsk."

Arthur's hand swept over from his mount, and smacked the sorcerer on the back of his head.

"Hey! That's twice in the last twenty minutes! At this rate, I'll have a concussion by the time we get to the Druids!" Merlin rubbed his head, his lips pulled into a pout.

"You should know better than to insult your king, _Mer_lin," was Arthur's only response.

The warlock huffed, his hand leaving the back of his raven hair in a disheveled mess. "Well you should—well, you should know better than to mistreat your advisor and warlock! After all, you're really hurting yourself in the long run." Merlin's eyebrows went up, and he assumed a posture not unlike the way Gaius looked when scolding a patient for not heeding his instructions, "Suppose a band of money seeking bandits—or better yet, a hoard of blood-seeking sorcerers, decides to jump our group. You'd be left without your magical protection, all because you wanted to slap your warlock into a concussion."

Arthur chuckled. "I'm sure Cadan would be willing to assist us with his magic."

Merlin latched his eyes onto his king, mouth gaping.

"You look like a hooked fish, Merlin."

Quickly, his jaw snapped closed, fixing the warlock's lips into a scowl, though his eyes melted the fake anger being portrayed on his features. Merlin shook his head, a small bubble of laughter breaking through the forest air.

"I think you attract more trouble than Cadan could handle. Destiny wasn't kidding around when she gave you an all-powerful warlock. You need one!"

Gwaine let out a hearty chuckle, "Mate, you _both_ attract more trouble than anyone I've ever met, and that's coming from me—and I live for trouble. With you two, it's like bees to honey!"

Arthur grinned, joining his knights in laughter. He had to admit, Gwaine had a point.

* * *

><p><em>Are you kidding me?<em> Arthur groaned inwardly at the calm before the storm. The birds had stopped chirping only moments ago, but now, the woodlands were eerily silent… save for the sounds of footsteps treading among the fallen leaves.

Bandits.

"Way to jinx us, Merlin!"

Arthur's hissed comment broke through the silence, and then suddenly, the bandits poured from the forested hills, running haphazardly in their haste to attack the mounted group.

Arthur swung from the saddle, unclipping his cloak in the process, letting it fall to the forest floor. He pulled his sword from his saddle's scabbard with a quick zing of the metal. Excalibur gleamed in his hand, and a chill of excitement buzzed through his body at the thought of the magic coursing through the sharpened blade. The king couldn't help but glance at the man who had given it to him.

To Arthur's right, Merlin held one arm out in a ready stance, keeping the other grasping the horse's reins. His lips were moving fast, uttering a language beyond Arthur's understanding. The warlock's eyes flashed gold, and a wave of force flew from his outstretched palm, knocking the first row of bandits off their feet. Cadan had brought his horse close to Merlin's—whether to help Emrys, or because it was the most logical place for a sorcerer in fear to gravitate, the king didn't know.

Arching Excalibur with a quick flick of his wrist, the king readied his stance as his knights came up behind him. While Merlin had taken down a good third of the raiding thieves, the rest continued their journey down the hill, weapons at the ready.

Arthur looked to his right, finding Merlin now beside him, his cloak still on, and with both arms held slightly out in front of him. Merlin caught the king's eye and smirked, ready and excited to openly use his magic to protect Arthur.

The king rolled his eyes, knowing that this was their first bandit attack in which Merlin's secret would be out in full view. "Be careful you idiot; try not to get yourself killed."

Merlin chuckled at Arthur's low warning, but then he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Arthur gave a curt nod, and then raised his arm, Excalibur glinting in the sunlight. "On me!"

The knights followed their royal into the fray, the sounds of footsteps and crunching leaves melding with the clash of metal and body.

The forest erupted into chaos.

Merlin held back, not rushing into the middle of the battle, but keeping to the outskirts. He had decided to let the knights do their work, only helping in a few instances: branches falling onto the bandits' heads, roots grabbing the enemies' ankles, and a couple of well-placed magic waves. But, after a while, Merlin decided to step in. The bandits were about twenty in number, and while Arthur and the knights had taken down a good twelve, that still left eight more up against the four Camelot fighters. Cadan was off to the side, using a few simple spells to catch the thieves' clothes on fire. Merlin chuckled. Cadan's approach was certainly original.

Seeing that the Druid was holding his own, the warlock turned his attention to the Once and Future King. Arthur was locked in battle with a rather large bandit, with arms a similar size to Sir Percival's.

Just then, a shout of pain pulled Merlin's gaze to where Leon was wrestling with his opponent on the forest floor. The leaves were rustling around the twisting men, both grappling for the weapons in the other's hands. The bandit had pulled a sharp knife from his boot, and had driven it into Leon's arm, the blood marking the ground where they struggled.

Quickly, Merlin threw out his arm, blasting the man off of the knight. He ran towards Leon, dodging a few swinging maces and swords in the process. The warlock dropped down beside the knight and held a hand over the injured appendage.

"_Gelácne"*_ Merlin breathed, his eyes glowing bright gold. The wound healed, leaving only a small white line in its place.

Merlin lowered his hand, and made eye contact with the knight, finding appreciativeness in the grey-green eyes below him. Then, the same eyes grew wide, and Merlin turned his head. In what felt like slow motion, Merlin watched as a bandit's sword pierced Arthur's midsection, and the king—_his _king, dropped Excalibur. While Merlin couldn't see the king's full face, Arthur's knees gave out and he fell, joining his weapon on the ground.

"ARTHUR!" Merlin scrambled up in seconds, his eyes flashing dangerously with the fierce protectiveness of Emrys. Gone was the former manservant, and in his stead, was the powerful sorcerer of legend. Merlin growled a spell, and his hands shot out, throwing the two bandits who had been attacking Arthur into the air. They landed harshly, either unconscious or dead.

His eyes still gold, Emrys roared, and a ring of fire sprung up around Cadan and the Camelot knights, protecting them from the rest of the downed bandits.

Merlin ran to his king's side, and fell to his knees. Choking back a sob, the warlock took a deep breath and placed his palms over the copiously bleeding wound.

It was just like last time.

Arthur groaned from underneath Merlin's applied pressure, and his hand reached out to grab his warlock's wrist. They were both shaking—Arthur in pain, and Merlin with anger and fear. A tear fell from the Court Sorcerer's eyes.

"Mer-lin." The king's voice hitched as the warlock pushed down on his armored torso.

Just like the last time.

Merlin's heart thumped wildly in his chest, and he shook his head quickly.

"Shut up Arthur."

Emrys then closed his eyes, and began the spell_. "Burhhæle a thæ_ _bilswæþ egc,"*_a low, deep voice erupted from Merlin's throat, the power of the spell burning in his eyes as they reopened. Both Emrys and the One and Future King gasped.

Just like the last time.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

*"Heal"

*"I command the healing of the wound of the sword"

Cliffhanger! (I couldn't resist)

PLEASE continue to review, I love hearing from you!

School's been pretty busy lately, with the end of the semester on the horizon, but I've been able to keep the 2 week schedule far. Hopefully I'll have the next update around November 28th—some time during Thanksgiving weekend!

Until then,

Mirror


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

* * *

><p>As the gold faded from Merlin's blue irises, Arthur shifted beneath him. The king slowly brought a hand to his stomach, finding it bloody, but without any wound.<p>

He sighed, his head falling back to the forest floor in relief.

"Thank you, Merlin." He said softly.

No response.

Arthur pulled his eyes open, finding the treetops and blue sky above him.

No Merlin.

The king used his elbows to prop himself up, scanning the clearing around him. The knights held back, standing in an uneasy line at the left of his vision, Cadan was with them. Gwaine was a step ahead of the others, his muscles tense and a frown marring his features, but he was held firmly in place by Percival's iron grip on his forearm, stopping him from approaching whatever was on Arthur's right side.

To his right, was Merlin.

"Merlin?" Arthur said again, this time with concern edging into his voice.

The warlock had scrambled back from the healed body of his king, his eyes shut tight and his breathing coming in quick, rapid breaths.

Arthur frowned; he had seen this Merlin many times in the last few months.

"Hey, hey, it's all right." Arthur slowly moved towards his panicking soul-brother. Bringing one arm around the shaking man, he then used the other to take hold of the hands that Merlin had fisted and curled to his heart.

"Take a deep breath, Merlin; breathe." The soft command brushed Merlin's ear as the king pulled him close.

"I-I… can't," the warlock choked out, his voice hitching as he struggled to breathe through his panic. Merlin's eyes were shut tight against the world, and his muscled arms trembled from the tense position he had arranged himself in.

"You can, and you will." Arthur said firmly. Pulling the warlock's left hand out of a fist, the king brought the palm to his chest, and inhaled deeply. Arthur could feel Merlin's rapid heartbeats through the hold he had on his friend, but he continued breathing with deep, measured breaths until he could feel Merlin following along.

Slowly, Merlin relaxed, and as his breathing evened out, his stiff arms unlocked.

"That's it." Arthur's encouragement was filled with relief. Over on the other side of the clearing, the knights shifted, small grins appearing on their worried faces. Cadan was watching the whole thing with wide, confused eyes.

Finally, Merlin's cerulean eyes appeared. They locked onto the king, traveling down to the bloody remains of his wound, and then to Merlin's own hands. His breathing faltered as he noticed the crimson stains on his palms and fingers.

Just like the last time.

"Merlin." Arthur called, knowing that he needed to bring his Court Sorcerer out of his memories.

The warlock's gaze flickered to that of his king's.

"It—It was just like last time." Merlin whispered, his husky voice filled with guilt and fear, "like Camlann."

The king sighed in sympathy, "But it's not; everything is ok, I'm here." Arthur leaned in closer, so that the knights wouldn't overhear, "This is nothing like last time, I promise. There was no mortal wound."

Merlin looked as though he would object, but the king shook his head, "I know what I felt; a wound like that would have taken a few painful weeks to heal, but it would have healed—on its own."

Arthur pulled back slightly, giving Merlin a few mores seconds to compose himself, before he asked, "Are you alright?"

The warlock took a deep breath, and answered as he exhaled, albeit a bit shakily. "Yes."

Leaves crunched as Gwaine came over and knelt down beside the two men.

"Everything good over here, mate?" The roguish knight cast a concerned glance at the king, though he had addressed Merlin.

Merlin nodded, giving a small smile to appease the worried gazes of both his friends.

Arthur watched him for a moment, and then spoke, "I think we've had enough traveling for the day. We'll ride another mile or so and then set up camp."

Leon and Percival set to work at their king's instructions, leading the horses—which had been startled during the battle, but had then been called back with help from Cadan's magic—into the clearing.

Gwaine followed their lead and took hold of his mare, patting it on the snout.

Arthur stood, and offered a hand to Merlin, who grasped it gratefully. The king went to take his reins from Leon, but paused. He had expected Merlin to be behind him, but instead, the warlock had moved to a tree, and placed his red-tinged hand on the bark. Arthur would've called out to him, but as soon as his mouth opened, Merlin's eyes flashed gold before they quickly reverted back to blue. Merlin stepped back from the tree, and then moved towards his horse.

"There's a stream just about a mile east from here. We should camp there." He said simply, though his kaleidoscopic eyes flickered to hands, and Arthur immediately caught on to what Merlin wanted.

He needed to get rid of the blood.

Looking down, Arthur too couldn't help but want the same thing. Crimson stained his ripped shirt and chainmail. He couldn't show up to the gathering looking like he had just been in a fight.

"Alright then, Merlin." The king said, accentuating his friends name at the effort of pulling himself into the saddle, "take the lead."

* * *

><p>As Merlin led the way, Gwaine pulled his horse next to Arthur's,<p>

"What the hell was that, Princess?"

Arthur sighed, knowing the stubborn knight wouldn't give up until he got an answer. He waited a moment, deciding how much to share before he spoke,

"You remember the morning after we returned from Camlann, and Merlin woke from a nightmare?"

Gwaine nodded, but stayed quiet.

The king lowered his voice, "He still has them. I receive many midnight visits from a hyperventilating warlock trying to convince himself I'm still around."

Gwaine's eyebrows arched in both confusion and concern, "But shouldn't they have stopped? He no longer has to worry about the vision of Mordred…" he broke of at the king's wince, watching as Arthur's hand ghosted over his side, and then, with a small cough quickly recovered the conversation.

"That's what worries me. Gaius thought they would've gotten better by now, but apparently Merlin's mind has other ideas—it still haunts him with his near-failure."

"I had no idea..." Shame laced Gwaine's voice as he thought of his best friend suffering, and him not being there to help.

"Well, we all know how good Merlin is at hiding his pain." Bitterness seeped into Arthur's soft voice, unable to stop the king from revealing his true feelings on Merlin's last decade of struggles.

Both knight and royal went silent for a moment, thinking of the stories they had heard in the past month, and silently agreed.

"I think he's ashamed. Ashamed that he's not able to meet the expectation of the prophecies—that the mighty Emrys could be plagued with nightmares." Arthur put a gloved hand to the bridge of his nose, sighing in a concerned frustration, "He's trying to deal with it himself because he doesn't want anyone to think differently of him. I don't even think Gwen would've known if he hadn't come barging into our chambers."

Gwaine shook his head, _hoping_ Merlin's reasons weren't the ones the king had mentioned, but _knowing_ that with the bond those two shared, it was most likely the case.

"We all know what he's been through—a little breakdown won't scare us away."

The Pendragon shrugged, his eyes betraying how lost he felt with the situation. "I had hoped that this trip might be good for him… that maybe being among other magical people would help." Arthur gestured to the warlock, "But the similarity of the situation… and you saw what happened just now…"

The knight blew air through his nose, "All powerful warlock indeed. Now I know why his enemies fear him."

Arthur let those words hang between them for a few seconds, before he looked down at his horse's mane, and said softly, "He's already suffered so much, I just want to be able to help him."

"Don't worry, Arthur." Gwaine reassured, his voice a serious tone, "If anyone can help him, it's you. Just give him time." He reached a hand over his steed and rested a hand on the Pendragon crest on the king's shoulder, "And if he needs me, I'll do all I can too. He's my best mate, and I owe him my life—many times over, to be honest."

The Arthur watched the back of his raven-hair friend as he led the way. Although he sat straight and stiff, small tremors passed through Merlin's body. He nodded, offering a grateful glance, but not trusting himself to speak.

"Now, I'm going to see if I can cheer him up a bit." And just like that, the knight perked up, "See ya Princess." Gwaine clicked with his tongue, and the horse drew forward.

Arthur's gaze followed the longhaired knight as he led his mount to the front of the group, beside Merlin. The warlock tensed, but quickly relaxed upon seeing Gwaine, though his carefully constructed, carefree mask was still in place.

Both the warlock and the knight knew Merlin was hiding, but they didn't acknowledge it. Gwaine placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder, just as he had done with Arthur a few moments earlier, and flashed a grin. Then, judging by his soul-brother's slight chuckle, the knight had gone on to regale Merlin with another story of his tavern adventures.

Hunith had spoken to Arthur before they left, and mentioned her son's strengthened resolve to beat these nightmares. Merlin's fighting spirit had been rekindled, but had the events that just transpired undone that determination? The king's throat went dry; he hoped not. His friend had already suffered so much, and the thought of _his _injury—not even the warlock's own, causing the young man more suffering, filled his heart with guilt. After Camlann, he had made a promise to himself that he would be there for Merlin, and that he would never cause his brother anymore pain… Arthur sighed.

But Merlin was stronger than they gave him credit for. He was loyal, selfless, and resilient. Arthur just had to get Merlin to see the inner strength that everyone else saw. He could beat this. He was _going_ to beat this.

And Arthur would be there every step of the way.

* * *

><p>By the time sunset had painted its colors across the forest, the group had stopped about a mile and a half from the battle site and beside a small stream.<p>

Merlin immediately stopped his horse, and jumped from the saddle, leaving Gwaine to finish the rest of his story without an audience. Arthur swung down from his own mount, tying the reins to a branch at chest level. He gave Gwaine an encouraging smile, and looked back briefly at the other knights and Druid. They were following the royal's example and dismounting, though a bit slower.

Unclipping his cloak, Arthur draped the red material over the side of his mare, and then went to the stream's edge.

Merlin was furiously scrubbing his hands, the pink water floating away in the current.

The king knelt down beside his brother, and silently began removing the crimson from his own hands as his gaze shifted down to look at his chainmail.

"Merlin."

The scrubbing stopped, and the warlock looked up with his startling blue eyes. He didn't say anything, but then again, he didn't need to.

"Can you help me with this?" Arthur indicated to his armor. He waved a hand over the spot where the now nonexistent wound had been, the broken links of chainmail glinting with red.

Merlin nodded, giving his hands a final scrub before shifting to face Arthur. He reached out, placing his long fingers on the mail. The king watched as a shudder passed through his brother's frame.

"_Gestrice hlenoa_,"* the words were spoken with soft authority, the blue eyes transforming to the telltale flash of gold.

"Thank you."

Merlin was quiet for a moment, "That chainmail saved your life."

"Well, knights wear it for a reason," Arthur attempted to lighten the mood, "I can't imagine a heavy metal shirt being desired for it's comfort."

A small smile emerged on the warlock's face, but quickly disappeared, his gaze turning to the ground in front of him.

"_Merlin_." Arthur placed hand on his brother's shoulder, his soft, gentle tone tugged at Merlin's heart, the affection and concern clear. "Everything is ok."

"You almost—"

"But I _didn't_. You shouldn't worry about the future so much, Merlin. Just look at the present, take one day at a time."

There was a pause before Merlin acknowledged Arthur's words.

Then, the warlock nodded, taking a slow, deep breath. He lifted his head, meeting the gaze of his king.

"I work hard repairing that armor, you better keep it whole from now on."

Arthur's eyebrows rose, and huffing, he replied, "All it takes is few words, I'd hardly call that 'working hard,' _Mer_lin."

"Maybe not now, but I spent _hours_ as your servant with that blasted hammer. You have no idea how much work that takes."

Arthur scoffed, but inside, his heart sang contentedly. Their banter was slowly wiping away the dark thoughts that clouded the warlock's mind.

"Come on, let's go help set up camp." He rose, extending a hand to his brother.

Merlin gave him a smile and placed his pale hand in that of his king's. Arthur hoisted him to his feet, his sturdy arms lifting the warlock effortlessly.

Merlin bent down briefly, dusting the dirt from his trousers. He began walking toward the campsite, but stopped, turning his head back towards his brother. "Thank you." The warlock spoke the simple words quietly, his eyes filled with gratitude.

Arthur nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, "Always."

* * *

><p>With all traces of the skirmish gone, Merlin had slowly been able to put his mind at ease. He knew it wouldn't do for him to focus on the future—after all, he had already had too many bad experiences with visions and prophecies.<p>

Camlann had happened, but they were all safe; he needed to focus on that.

When Arthur and Merlin had returned to what would be their campsite for the evening, the warlock had offered to gather firewood, leaving Arthur to explain the awkward situation to the knights. The warlock knew they—and Cadan, would be wondering what had happened back there, and he didn't feel like being the one to explain.

He just wanted to move on.

Merlin silently maneuvered around the gathering men, and wandered into the woods, picking up sticks and branches as he went along. As he was walking away, he could hear the low tones of Arthur's voice beginning his explanation.

Merlin waited about fifteen minutes, just to make sure he had given Arthur enough time to talk—he didn't want to show up in the middle of _that_ conversation.

In that time, he collected wood and calmed himself by releasing some of his magic at the outskirts of the camp, placing protective wards in an encompassing circle.

One couldn't be too careful, Merlin had learned.

After a few more minutes, the warlock made it back to his king and friends, trying not to be too aware of the knights' concerned glances.

Arthur had pulled his lips into a thin line, trying to mask the worry he held for his soul-brother.

Merlin could see right through it.

Arthur, though, must have noticed the warlock's unease, and so, the king pulled himself from his own thoughts and raised an eyebrow in question,

"So, what's for dinner tonight _Mer_lin?" Arthur drawled, his muscular frame leaning against an old gnarled oak.

"How should I know," Merlin dropped his load of firewood in front of the beginnings of a campfire, falling into the comfortable familiarity of their banter. "I'm not a servant anymore." He winked at the knights, who had finished seeing to their horses, and were just starting to sit down on the forest floor.

Gwaine propped his elbows on his knees, his hands framing his pouting face, "Oi, come on mate! You know the rest of us are terrible cooks!"

An impish grin appeared on the warlock's face, but he remained silent, turning around to retrieve his saddlebag. "Stop thinking of your stomach Gwaine, and help set up camp."

"It is set up! Besides, I can't help it, a man has to eat, after all." The roguish knight pushed his hair out of his eyes, "So what'll it be? Venison stew? Beef? Vegetable?"

"Gwaine!"

"Alright, alright."

Percival playfully shoved Gwaine, but, after a few seconds of silence, he smirked, "You make a good rabbit stew as well, Merlin."

Merlin laughed, shaking his head as he pulled out a pot and his collection of herbs.

"Ah. Right you are, my friend." Gwaine sighed longingly.

"Well I'm afraid to disappoint you my meat-loving companions, it's just vegetable for tonight," the warlock finally revealed, "though I do have some dried venison."

"Delicious!" The knight smacked his lips loudly.

"Anything would be delicious to you, Gwaine." Leon rolled his eyes, removing his scabbard and placing it on the forest floor beside him, allowing him to lean back, farther against the trunk of an oak, "I'm fairly certain you wouldn't notice what you were eating, as long a cup of meade was placed in front of you."

"Now that's just hurtful, insulting the drink like that." Gwaine clicked disapprovingly with his tongue. Then, as if to prove his point, he pulled a flask from his travel pack, and took a dramatic sip.

"You're impossible," Arthur remarked from across the campsite.

Gwaine gave his king a disarming grin, shrugged, and then proceeded to drink from the flask.

A smile broke out on Merlin's face at the knight's antics. These were the memories he usually remembered with the most fondness—campsite banter where knights, king, and servant were equal around the fire. Now, Merlin journeyed under a new rank, and yet, their camaraderie remained the same. He still had the job often delegated to the servant, but it wasn't something he minded; after all, Merlin would have to eat whatever anyone cooked… so it was best, not only for the group, but also for his own stomach, that he prepare the food.

The warlock let his thoughts fade, and took in the surrounding chatter, content to cook to the tune of his friends' voices.

* * *

><p>When Merlin declared the stew ready, the knights eagerly gathered around, waiting for a bowl to be sent in their direction.<p>

Seeing their faces, the warlock let out a laugh, "Oi, you lot are all so impatient!"

"When it comes to food, kings don't have to be patient, _Mer_lin. It's a privilege of the job." Arthur stated matter-of-factly, before nodding his thanks as Merlin handed him his stew. The king took his spoon and pointed it at his knight, "Besides, we have to get _something_ before Gwaine eats it all."

"Oi!"

"Or Percival," Merlin added, dishing out another bowl, "both eat more than any man I've ever met—and since that category includes you, Sire, that's saying something!"

Arthur scowled, but the large knight grinned, choosing to stay silent as Merlin handed him a steaming meal.

The impish grin on Merlin's face was infectious, causing the Camelotians to smile.

The warlock gave Leon his food, and then, with the knights settling down to eat their stew, Merlin grabbed a bowl and brought it to Cadan, who waited patiently by the fire.

He sat down a little ways from the Druid—closer to Arthur, with his own small portion of stew, listening to the happy sounds of the satisfied men.

"Ah, you've outdone yourself this time, mate." Gwaine said between mouthfuls.

Percival and Arthur nodded, and Leon lifted his bowl towards the warlock in a thankful gesture.

"Splendid, as always, Merlin."

The former manservant just chuckled, and then ate in silence, content to listen to the knights teasing themselves.

When he had finished, Merlin set down his empty bowl, and fixed his gaze on the other silent member of the traveling party. His mind flashing back to earlier in the day.

"Cadan, can I ask you something?"

The Druid was startled from his reverie, but nodded eagerly, "Of course, Emrys. Anything."

Merlin chose to ignore the Druid's tone, which betrayed his obvious desire to please the powerful warlock,

"Why is it that I was the only one to get the instructions earlier?" Merlin leaned towards the fire, placing his elbows on his knees, "Even if it was only for those with magic, how come you didn't get them?"

The Druid set his attention away from his bowl of stew, motioning to Merlin. "Do you have the invitation?"

The warlock's eyebrows scrunched forward, his thoughts flying around in his head in an attempt to put together what Cadan was trying to explain. He reached into his cloak and pulled out the document.

The Druid nodded, "Whoever holds the summons is the one who receives the directions—of course, it is implied that only those with magic would have such an invite in their possession." He took a small mouthful of stew, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before continuing, "It was a system invented by my people early on. Having such security measures enables us to keep out unwanted sorcerers, and of course, those who sought to do us harm."

By this point, Arthur and the knights had drifted out of their own conversations, their curiosity bringing their ears to the Druid's explanation.

Merlin, though, was too enthralled in the simple piece of parchment to notice.

He hummed, turning it over in his own hands.

"I'll have to learn that spell. I can think of a few situations in which such a thing could come in handy."

"Like what?" Percival asked, entering into the discussion.

"Maybe for battle plans, or perhaps, when we form a guard of sorcerers, to relay locations to different patrols."

"Hm." The knights made various noises of agreement, recognizing the value of such a spell.

"I have been told it takes a fair amount of power to send these messages, since they have to travel an unknown distance to reach the spelled object," Cadan's eyes glinted with something akin to reverence as he continued, "but I'm sure you would have no trouble."

Merlin cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Well, I'm sure it would take a few tries," the warlock tried modestly.

Though the attention brought a tinge of pink to his cheeks, Merlin was, in fact, thinking of a way to put the spell to work. His hand traveled up to his neckerchief, and he fingered the material thoughtfully.

"Could you teach it to me?"

Cadan shook his head,

"I'm sorry Emrys, I don't know it. I never thought to learn the incantation because I don't have the power needed for such a spell."

Merlin hummed, his eagerness deflating.

"But you can ask any of the Druid elders, and they would be honored to teach it to you," Cadan added quickly, sensing the disappointment that Merlin had let slip.

The warlock, realizing he had hurt the Druid's feelings, waved off Cadan's continued apologies. "I'm certain there's a lot I can learn from them; I will make sure to ask about it when we arrive. Thank you, Cadan." Merlin gave him a small smile.

The Druid nodded, and then after a few moments, turned to Percival, who had called Cadan's name.

"Yes, Sir Percival?"

"I was, well, I was curious what clan you hail from?" the knight realized how vague that questions sounded, and so he expanded, "there are a few Druid camps that I stayed at when I was younger."

Cadan tilted his head in slight surprise, as did the rest of the camp—though, minus Merlin, the Druid noticed. The warlock sat there smiling, meaning he had already known about Percival's past relations with magic.

But in truth, he had only known for a few weeks.

Percival had come to Merlin a few days after his Court Sorcerer ceremony, and had told him about the Druids, and the magic he had seen them perform as a young boy.

Merlin had listened eagerly, and when the large knight had started on Druidic prophecies, he couldn't help but be shocked.

Percival had known the warlock's destiny for longer than he himself had.

And Merlin couldn't help but wonder if, after spending years in Camelot, had he ever connected the dots?

Did the stories of Emrys and the Once and Future King ever remind him of a gangly manservant and his king?

Percival had smiled at that, Merlin recalled.

The large knight admitted that he had mulled over the idea a few times but had always been a bit hesitant to look into it, due to Arthur's stance on magic.

Destiny worked in such wonderful ways.

"I am from a clan that originally resided to the west of the White Mountains, near Caerleon, although, we moved around some in the warmer months."

Percival nodded, "I knew a few Druids from the western clans, but I mostly came in contact with those to the north and east, as plenty came through to trade in the summer. After my village was burned, I stayed with a northern clan for a short bit. But, the Druids from the west that I encountered were wonderful people."

At the fond words, Cadan smiled, his association with the knights growing more comfortable.

As he witnessed the deep bond between his traveling companions, the Druid realized how truly these men cared for one another. Under the banter, jokes, and tomfoolery lay a brotherhood formed by mutual love and respect. Although, he admitted to himself, he had originally had his doubts about the Once and Future King and Emrys, Cadan found nothing but confidence now.

This change in perception prompted the Druid to continue the conversation on his people and their future,

"Yes, there are many clans, and there are more being created each day, as groups separate over alliances and feelings…" Cadan took a deep breath before adding, "we have since moved closer to Camelot, camping on the other side of the mountains since the ban was lifted. It is the hope of our chieftain, Belden, that we will find a more permanent place closer to the city, and foster our relationship with non-magical men."

The Druid lifted his gaze from his hands, nervously waiting for the king's response. But, Arthur's eyes weren't on Cadan.

Instead, the king was currently sharing a look with his warlock, as though they only needed their eyes to communicate their thoughts to each other.

After a few moments, Merlin broke out into a wide smile, and then gave a slight nod to the Pendragon.

"Well, I'm sure we'll be able to find you a spot." Arthur addressed Cadan, a small smile on his own face, "there is plenty of space in the woods surrounding the city."

The king's offer, though partly based on what he knew was right, had been prompted by his large knight's confession. Since the ban had been lifted, his people were continuously surprising Arthur. In the case of his knight, Percival's rare words made it hard to find out anything too personal, but after the allowance of magic in the kingdom, and Merlin's promotion, Percival seemed to let his guard down. The knight's friends knew very little about the circumstances surrounding the deaths of Percival's family, but Arthur was glad that the Druids had been able to offer him some comfort. He was equally glad that the new changes in Camelot were helping the Druids, after all they had done to help those in his kingdom.

The selfless lives of the Druids only inflamed his passion to give all the peoples of Camelot protection, and a life free of fear. Although building Albion was no easy task, it was well worth it.

Merlin nodded enthusiastically at the king's comment, pride filling his gaze, while the Druid, too pleased to speak, just smiled, his eyes glassy with held-back tears.

The warlock then stood up, stretching his arms before yawning, "And now, I think it's time we all get to sleep; we have a big day tomorrow."

"Agreed. Leon, you have first watch." Arthur instructed his first knight.

"I set wards around the campsite, but be on guard, just in case." With that, Merlin pulled his cape closer, and stretched out on his bedroll.

The knight dipped his head in acknowledgment, sitting with his back against a tree.

Gwaine sighed dramatically before taking one last, large swallow from his flask. He followed the motions of the others and positioned himself on his bedroll, placing the now-lighter flask next to his head and disappearing under a blanket with a muffled "goodnight."

Tomorrow, they would reach the camp. Tomorrow, they would be one step closer to Albion.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

*Mend links (of chainmail)

Thank you SO much to all those who have read and reviewed this story. I haven't gotten many reviews recently—please let me know what you think! I really appreciate the insight.

As for my schedule, I have TWO WEEK (yes, TWO!) until the semester ends. Unfortunately, schoolwork must come first, so that means the next update will probably be a bit late. But don't worry, I'll be back to my two week schedule after finals.

Thanks again to all my reviewers and followers—keep it up!

Until then,

Mirror


	5. Chapter 5

Winter break has officially begun! Hopefully that means more updates will be coming your way, but with Christmas around the corner, things may be a bit crazy. Anyway thank you for your patience… here's Chapter 5!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

* * *

><p>Arthur stared at the embers of last night's fire, his mind a thousand miles away.<p>

The sun had just started to peek through the treetops, illuminating the silver chain mail covering the knights sprawled out around the clearing. He sighed, knowing he should probably collect more wood and prepare a fire for when Merlin decided to wake and start breakfast, but the king couldn't move.

He had been sitting in the same position for close to four hours. He hadn't been able to sleep very well, and so he had replaced Gwaine for night watch, and hadn't bothered to wake Percival for his shift.

Kept busy with travel preparations and ensuring the kingdom was protected in his absence, as well as having his hands busy with a panic-attack prone warlock, Arthur had been unable to let the full meaning of the Druid's invitation sink in. But last night, after everyone had gone to sleep, the silence had left his mind to wander and to process the events of the last few days.

Ever since that first hour on watch, the Pendragon had been plagued with worries and doubts.

He tried not to feel nervous—even spending half his night telling himself how he shouldn't be feeling this way—but the Druid gathering was rather intimidating for a man who had shied away from magic his whole life.

Ever since he could remember, Arthur had known magic to be a curse on the land; a scourge that must be wiped out before it could do the same to him and his people. Uther had seen to it that his son was perfectly ignorant on the subject, and had instilled the same fears and hatred for the power that he himself had held in his own heart since Arthur's birth.

When he had grown older, though, Arthur had realized the peacefulness of the Druids, and that Gaius had, once upon a time, studied the Old Religion. It had come as a surprise to him that someone so good could practice something so evil, and it led him to _really_ think about magic: was magic really all that evil?

However, his father's prejudiced foundations were strong.

And then came the countless vengeful sorcerers, Morgana, and ultimately, Uther's death. Betrayed and alone, Arthur was left with only one thing to blame: magic.

The king sighed, dragging a hand across his worn and tired features. He brought his mind away from the past feelings that had surfaced with his memories, and instead, glanced over at his former servant, who was curled up at Arthur's right.

Merlin.

The emotions that flooded him now helped ease the sting that often came when Arthur thought of his father.

Merlin, the lovable idiot warlock, was the reason he was still alive.

He was the reason for Arthur's caring heart—though it was hidden behind a more kingly persona—and in turn, for Camelot's strength and success. It was _because of magic_ that his life had become so much better than it was. Magic had destroyed him, but at the same time, the Pendragon _owed everything_ to the same force.

Arthur let a small smile flit across his face at the irony of it all. Taking a deep breath, the king pulled himself to his feet, resolutely pushing his nerves to the back of his mind.

There would be no room in the future for his fears of magic.

* * *

><p>"It can't be much farther now," Merlin announced to the group, "we've passed nearly all the locations in the images the Druids sent me."<p>

After breakfast, the Camelot group had made quick work of breaking camp, eager to reach their destination. However, some time had been spent as the knights joked around, and tossed their water skins between each other a few times before they had been fully set to go.

Arthur had been rather quiet through the entire process. The knights and Druid noticed the change in the king and chose to respectfully give him space. Merlin, though, knew Arthur like the back of his hand, and so he could feel the king's nerves, but at the same time knew that he was also excited.

The warlock, then, had ridden beside Arthur, and talked about Druid customs and everything else he had been able to glean from Gaius and the magical books he had acquired from a certain previously sealed section of the vaults.

Merlin knew that the more knowledge Arthur had on a subject, the more prepared and confident he felt. He could also sense how the constant chatter had helped ease the king's nerves, and so Merlin continued talking about whatever came to mind.

But, as the horses slowly moved along, whispers tickled the edge of Merlin's mind, causing him to lapse into a few moments of silence.

The quite voices built up into a soft rhythm of a child's laughter, an old woman's story, and the murmurings of someone learning new spells; but then he heard what was underneath all that: _Emrys._

"They know we're here." Merlin flicked his gaze to Cadan, and the young Druid nodded in confirmation, that he too, heard his kin.

Arthur, who had been fidgeting in his saddle, tensed at the thought of the meeting's closeness.

"Emrys."

Merlin whipped his head around, his reaction the same as the royal and knights. Between the trees the group had just passed stood two Druids, hidden beneath their green cloaks.

The taller Druid pushed back his hood, revealing a familiar face,

"Iseldir!" Merlin grinned, quickly dismounted and walked towards his friend.

The others watched from behind as Iseldir—as Merlin had called him—and the man's other companion bowed their heads to the warlock.

Merlin paused for a moment, looking unsure of himself, with his cheeks turning a soft pink.

"No, no, there's no need for that." He coughed out awkwardly.

Arthur and the knights stared at the scene before them, somewhat taken aback by the reverence the commanding Druid held for their clumsy warlock.

Iseldir looked up at Merlin, and gave him a small smile. His gaze then slid to the rest of the Camelot entourage.

"King Arthur Pendragon," Iseldir's eyes seemed to sink into Arthur's soul, but the king ignored the eerie feeling and dismounted, finding his way over to his warlock.

Merlin was smiling again, though his body was somewhat tense as his gaze flickered to Arthur, and then to the Druid.

"Iseldir, it's been some time." The king greeted pleasantly.

Merlin's shoulders visibly relaxed at the friendly exchange. It had been years since Arthur had met Iseldir, but with magic no longer a canyon between them, this would be a meeting that set up new foundations for Camelot and the Druids.

"Indeed." Iseldir's eyebrows drew up in silent amusement and joy from his newfound magical freedom, "Quite a few things have changed since we last met."

As Arthur let out a small chuckle, Merlin's eyes filled with happiness.

"He's now aware of how useful I am," the warlock winked, and nudged his king playfully, "and how many times I've saved his royal backside. Even promoted me for it."

The Druid nodded, "All of magic felt the change, Emrys. The day you truly came into your powers, in the Cave, and when the king realized your true worth."

Arthur cast a surprised glance toward his brother, seeing his face a mix of confusion as well. "Really?"

"Yes," Iseldir smiled, "The prophecies are well on their way to coming true."

From a few steps behind the elder Druid, the younger spoke up in agreement,

"Albion is coming."

Iseldir dipped his head to his companion. "Emrys, King Arthur, this is my son Vidir."

The young man, about fourteen, stepped forward and bowed his head again, and when his gaze returned to Merlin's eye-level, the hazel eyes were glistening with reverence,

"It is an honor to meet you both. I have lived off my father's tales of you, Emrys, and your king, since before I myself came into my magic." Eagerness bubbled in the Druid's voice.

Iseldir laughed fondly at his son. "He exaggerates some."

He placed an arm around Vidir's shoulders, and then motioned with his free hand at the knights. "Come, we will see to the horses, and then show you to your tents. The gathering officially begins at sundown." The Druid turned, and with his arm still around his son, began walking towards the camp.

Though Merlin heard no sounds indicating a large group of people was camped just beyond the trees, he knew they were there; he figured that they had put up protective wards and silencing enchantments.

It was an inclusive gathering, after all.

Merlin went to collect Lottie, but the mare had already tailed him, and turning around, he founds her muzzle pushing into his shoulder. The warlock chuckled and rubbed between her eyes, whispering fondly to her.

Arthur held back the grin his lips had tried to form, and so only the dark haired warlock could hear, said under his breath, "Don't be such a girl, Merlin."

Then, rolling his eyes, the king took the reins of his horse, and led the animal behind him as he followed the two Druids. The others had also gotten down from their saddles, and were bringing their steeds after their king.

The Camelotians continued to follow their hosts, pushing aside a few low branches along the way in order to clear a path from the dense forest.

Arthur looked around, impressed; had to give credit to the Druid people, who had thought of every detail when it came to their gathering. The sorcerers had strategically picked this campsite, as the trees in the area provided excellent shelter and protection from the unwanted passerby.

Then, the way cleared, leaving the king stunned.

Ahead of them, the forest made way for tents, fire pits, and the Druids—who, as far as Arthur could tell, easily numbered over 300.

He had never seen such a vast assembly of magic-practitioners, and so, the king faltered, unsure of what to do next.

But, Merlin was ready.

_Thank gods,_ Arthur thought.

The warlock walked forward, gently tugging Lottie's reins so the horse would follow. He smiled confidently, moving to stand beside Iseldir and his son.

The camp went silent as the visitors entered the peoples' lines' of vision, and conversations broke off as the Druids' brought their eyes to the Camelot group.

"_Emrys."_

The excited hum in the air that Merlin had felt earlier increased tenfold. Magic was alive here. The warlock took a deep breath, relishing the power around him.

Arthur looked to his former manservant, a curious and slightly confused gleam in his eyes.

Of course, he couldn't hear the telepathic whispers.

Merlin gave him a somewhat sheepish you-wouldn't-understand-it's-magic glance, and then turned back to the Druids. There were no formal introductions to be had here—that would come later, at the meetings themselves. These people were on the outside edges of the camp, and so, they were the members of the clans not chosen to attend the event for political reasons, but simply came as guests. As Gaius had explained to him earlier, the clan leaders, their families, a healer or seer, and three elder advisors were the standard for the representative clan members.

After the initial moments of awkward silence, Merlin greeted the few curious sorcerers who approached him and Iseldir, engaging in small talk and a chuckle here and there.

Arthur was close behind him, and nodded when he noticed some of the Druids had welcomed him as well, but for the most part, let the warlock do the talking.

At some point, a young boy came and relieved Merlin of Lottie's reins, while other children did the same for Arthur and the knights' steeds; but the king barely had time to register the disappearance of the horses. He was too enthralled with the events of the clearing.

Now that the Camelot party had arrived, the people had turned back to their tasks.

To Arthur's left, a young mother bounced a child on her lap, stirring a pot of stew hanging over a small fire. Beyond her, an older man sat on a blanket, propped up against a tree trunk and whittling what looked to be a carving of a bird.

Three boys chose that moment to run through the clearing, maneuvering around the guests, tents, and other Druids, as they chased each other in their game. But, the smallest one's foot caught a root, and, as if in slow motion, the king watched the boy fall dangerously close to the open fire and scalding stew.

His right foot moved forward, predicting the motion Arthur would take to try and reach the child's side, but, before he could react, the boy froze in mid-fall. The king scrunched his nose in confusion for a moment, and then moved his gaze to the mother. Eyes glowing gold, the woman held her arm outstretched, soft words directing her power to bring the child to safety.

The other individuals in the clearing thought nothing of it, but looking behind him, Arthur found his knights' faces portraying looks that appeared as equally relieved as he felt.

To his right, Merlin just smiled.

Slowly, Arthur's face took on a grin of its own.

He would have to get used to the Druids' way of life, but he looked forward to it. The king had thought he would have been more nervous around the random displays of sorcery—as he had only ever seen Merlin do such acts repeatedly and without thinking (the occasional healer or other magic practitioner that came to Camelot would first ask the king's permission, or give a sideways glance before they spoke a spell). Arthur found himself intrigued, and excited to get to know the lifestyle of these people.

For the first time in his life, he saw the depth of what Merlin always spoke about. Magic was everywhere, entwined in the lives of all who could access its power. It was a companion to the Druids, just as it was lifeblood to Merlin.

The king could feel it in the air, bouncing on the light breeze that made its way through the trees.

Magic surrounded him, and yet, he felt nothing but happiness.

_This_, was what he wanted for Camelot.

Why had he been worried? Merlin was always right, it seemed.

The king exhaled a relaxing breath.

Prince Arthur, son of the magic-fearing Uther Pendragon, was no more.

Standing in the clearing was King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, and the Once and Future King of Albion.

* * *

><p>"Are you ready for this?" The warlock's long fingers snapped the king's cloak into place, and then moved down Arthur's shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in the red fabric. Years of dressing the Pendragon made actions like these an ingrained process of movements to the former manservant.<p>

Merlin brought his kaleidoscopic gaze up to his king's face, his previously spoken question dancing in his eyes.

Arthur shifted his feet, but looked back at Merlin, nodding slightly, "Of course, _Mer_lin, why wouldn't I be." He tried playing down his anxiety.

"Arthur." Merlin's head tilted, an immediate sign that he wasn't buying the king's response, "you've been nervous all day."

The warlock stepped back a few feet, which, in his case, was nearly the entire width of their tent.

After the initial entrance into camp, Iseldir had brought the Camelotians to a group of tents that had been assigned to them.

They had been placed in a clearing all their own to give them privacy, but not too far from Iseldir's own clan, so as to not make Merlin and Arthur feel too isolated.

The knights had been given a larger tent to share, a couple of yards to the left of the king and warlock's tent. They had immediately gone to unpack their supplies, and to change into something more fitting for a peaceful gathering.

Arthur too, had removed his armor, but his cloak was to remain clasped around his neck. And in truth, Arthur preferred it that way, it made him feel less exposed, and kept his feelings in check. At least, that was always Merlin's explanation for why Arthur was so attached to his cloak-and even _if _he was right, the king would never admit that to Merlin.

The king's lips pulled into a thin smile, "It's just…" Arthur searched for the right words, "This is such an important opportunity, and an immense responsibility… I don't want to mess it up."

The warlock laughed softly, "I don't think you could, even if you tried."

Merlin picked up his own cloak, and threw it around his shoulders, smoothing out the fabric that had caught on his left shoulder, and adjusting his neckerchief around the clasp.

"You see, being Emrys and the Once and Future King, our identities give us more of a following than any words that could come from our mouths. What we will say over the course of the next few days will only solidify our place in the prophecies." Merlin shrugged, "Besides, I've told Iseldir about your prattishness a multitude of times, and he's stuck with us so far…" The warlock broke off as he hopped and avoided the apple projectile the king had thrown in protest.

Then, with a flash of his golden eyes, Merlin had the apple in his hand, and placed it back on the small table. Clicking his tongue, he moved towards the tent flap, "See, already true to your character."

There was a growl behind him, before the king was once again at Merlin's side.

Merlin's smirk faded into a more serious, but fond smile, and placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder, he said, "They're waiting for us. Let's go show them what Destiny has planned."

With that, Merlin ducked out of the tent, leaving Arthur to follow his former manservant to the next step in uniting Albion.

* * *

><p>The trees seemed to glow with the orange and pink hues of the setting sun.<p>

It was sundown, and the meetings were to officially begin.

Merlin's head bobbed up and down as he walked beside his king, leading the way to their destination with a few murmured words.

There was an anxious silence between them, which neither saw necessary to break.

After a few minutes, the warlock stopped.

Iseldir, whom Arthur had discovered was the presiding leader of the gathering, stood as the king and warlock entered the clearing.

The break in trees was an ellipse, with a fire pit set in the center. Surrounding the crackling flames, were the Druids, seated in groups, their chieftains closest to the fire. Iseldir's clan was positioned at the far end of the clearing, the top of the ellipse. At his movement, the other leaders stood, and prompted their companions to do the same.

This was it. Arthur's heartbeat quickened in excitement.

The beginning of Albion.

It was then that the Pendragon noticed Merlin, who stood a step behind and to the left of Arthur, a habit the former manservant had yet to break when confronted with important attention. The king reached his right arm backwards enough to find Merlin's wrist, and pulled him forward, so that they would be standing as equals.

The warlock coughed in embarrassment, and perhaps awkwardness at the multiple sets of eyes trained on the two Camelot men.

Iseldir nodded in greeting, and motioned for them to sit at the spot to his left, where Gwaine, Percival, and Leon stood waiting. Arthur and Merlin strode across the clearing, acknowledging their friends with reserved smiles, and sat down at the indicated place. Now that everyone was present, the Druids took their seats.

Iseldir stepped forward and spoke to the gathered group, a hushed silence falling over the clearing as he began, "Welcome to this meeting of the clans. It is an honor to have each and every one of you here, representing your people."

The Druid spoke with the ease of a natural leader, "This year, our gathering has taken a turn we have all waited for, though not necessarily expected. Nearly a month ago, we felt Destiny's presence, and the shift in Magic. This was the day Emrys recognized and accepted the breadth of his power, and in turn, the time in which the Once and Future King recognized and accepted Emrys—the day their entwined Destiny was truly awakened."

The people in the clearing were captured by Iseldir's words. Misty eyes, tears, and smiles were present on each Druid face at the remembrance of that day, and at the thought of what Destiny held in store for their future.

Arthur looked beside him, to his brother.

Merlin though, held his clouded eyes to the Druid chieftain. He was clearly thinking of the more… depressing aspects of that time.

Mordred's fateful blow that nearly led to Arthur's death; the bloodshed of battle; Morgana's final words; Merlin's own hands on the sword that had pierced her body; Arthur's shunning of the revealed warlock, his trust in their brotherly relationship snapped by the sharp edge of Uther's instilled teachings.

The king sighed softly, and brushed a comforting shoulder against the warlock's blue-cloaked arm, wishing he could relieve Merlin of all the hurt he had caused with his ignorant actions.

The warlock gave an imperceptive nod of gratitude, his lips forming a small smile for his king.

Arthur then turned his attention back to the Druid's speech, "…and now, Magic is once more allowed in Camelot. I know some of you have expressed doubts on this matter, and I hope this gathering will ease them.

"Gatherings have been used by our ancestors for centuries, to discuss the statuses of our clans, the kingdoms we live in, where we can find food, and where we will be welcome to camp for the following year. With these talks we have settled disagreements between clans, and were once given the honor to preside over treaties made between the ruling kingdoms. And now, we have been given the opportunity to once again witness the formation of a peace treaty.

"As most of you know, at each gathering, leaders are allowed to speak freely on concerns that they wish to address. We are to keep these speeches and discussions orderly and open to comments from all members. All I ask, is that you remain polite, and with an open mind."

Iseldir let his voice carry through the clearing for a moment, before continuing, "Now, we have the honor of hearing from the Once and Future King. King Arthur, if you would…" the druid motioned for the young blond to stand.

Taking a deep breath to expel the nerves fluttering in his stomach, Arthur took to his feet, his posture straight and ingrained with a sense of royalty. He bowed his head in respect, and cleared his throat. "Thank you Iseldir."

Arthur's eyes roved around the people, and with a final glance to Merlin, he began,

"If you had told me a few months ago, that I would be standing amongst you, looking to create peace between Camelot and the magical community, I am not sure what I would have said; I might have thought you as daft as Merlin, here." The knights chuckled behind him, as they knew enough about Arthur's relationship with the young man to find the humor in his words. "But, today is a new day. Since the battle at Camlann, my eyes have been opened, and my heart changed. I come before you now with the utmost respect, to not only find peace, but to ask your forgiveness.

"All the trouble my father caused, I know now was a result of my birth. The years of persecution—the years of lives lost—so that I might live, were a heavy price. You waited for the prophecy for years, while I let my father's teachings harden my heart towards magic; magic—a part of the very fabric of the world, was denied because of one man's mistake.

"While my father may not have been right, he did his best to provide for his kingdom—and now that I have taken on the responsibility of his kingdom, I can see that now.

As the King of Camelot, I truly hope that I can right the wrongs Uther committed, and create a kingdom for all peoples. A place where magical and non-magical children can play together in the same streets and forests, and where sorcerers can live in peace alongside neighbors without the gift. For that is exactly what it is—a gift. To be able to protect our loved ones—it makes no difference if it is with a sword or a spell; to tend to the sick and injured, with either herbs or incantations. It doesn't matter. For both are equally valuable, and it is my hope that all kingdoms grow to see that, just as I have." Pausing, Arthur's eyes flicked to his right for a few short seconds, "with Merlin Emrys by my side, I will do everything I can to create a world where you will no longer be met with fear or hated. I promise you that."

The king's words grew softer as his speech ended, but the emotion imbued in the promise brought a gentle smile to Arthur's face.

As the silence of a speechless crowd overtook the clearing, the Pendragon looked around the campfire. Many of their faces glistened with tears, but the one who truly mattered, was Merlin, whose eyes shone with pride.

Finally, he had done something of worth for the man he cherished as a brother.

From there, the meeting progressed; Merlin spoke about the code he had written as laws on illegal magic, while Arthur explained his future plans for a contingent of sorcerers to be knighted at Camelot.

The Druids listened with intense gazes, eager to hear about the peace and prosperity that Destiny would bring. A few had raised questions, or replied with their own comments, but the majority of the sorcerers remained silent, simply content to be taking in the moment.

Then, when the Camelotians had run out of things to speak on, it was Iseldir's turn once more.

"I know I speak for my people when I say thank you, King Arthur, and Emrys, for what you have already accomplished, and what you will accomplish, in the task of uniting Albion." The chieftain respectfully nodded his head towards the two young men, "we also offer our services, so that if you should ever have need of a Druid, we will be waiting."

Arthur gave the man a small smile at the offer, feeling a little less anxious about the seemingly impossible feat of uniting Albion.

This was really happening.

Who could have guessed that his early years of kingship could bring such possibilities—especially with magic being at the center of these new changes for his Camelot?

If Uther could see him now, Arthur was sure that he would be rolling over in his grave. But that was just the thing: it didn't bother him anymore.

Arthur no longer felt pressured to live up to his father's reign. He knew now that he was destined to walk a different path, one that would bring Camelot into more prosperity than his father could have ever hoped for.

In a way, these thoughts led him to feel pity for the former king. Arthur knew that his father had tried to be a good leader, looking out for and protecting his kingdom; but at the same time, it had only been a kingdom to Uther. There were no individuals in this kingdom—it was a singular entity of similarity. But Arthur had discovered differently. He was the people's king, and one that saw the citizens as representatives of different opinions, needs, and ways of life. He was simply the protector of thousands, not the figurehead of a powerful kingdom consisting of people worth _less_ than him.

Merlin had taught him that.

For what was probably the thousandth time that day, Arthur snuck a glance at his warlock. His head was tilted, and his eyes bright as they followed the hand gestures that Iseldir spoke with.

He was watching his dreams come true.

And _that_, for Arthur, made everything that seemed impossible, worth aiming for.

With Merlin by his side, the Pendragon couldn't help but dare to dream of this Albion, and looking at where he was now, he couldn't help but feel that they were already well on their way to accomplishing the impossible.

At that moment, Merlin—who must have sensed the king's watchful gaze—turned slightly to Arthur, a question dancing silently in his eyes.

Arthur gave him a reassuring smile, and dragged his hand over to discreetly punch the warlock's side.

Merlin's face took on an indignant pout, but it was quickly swept away with a quiet huff of laughter.

The king's actions must have assuaged Merlin's curiosity, because the warlock then looked back to Iseldir, who, Arthur noticed with some embarrassment—and annoyance (he blamed his suddenly short attention span and reflective thoughts on his former manservant) was wrapping up his own speech.

The older Druid leader looked peaceful and content as he addressed his people and the Camelot guests, "Now, we will leave the subject of Morgana and her followers for the morning. Until then, let us enjoy one another's company, and meditate on all that we have heard today."

The Druids nodded, bowing their heads slightly before rising from the logs, their faces catching the shadows of the flickering campfire.

Arthur stood, and then held a hand out to Merlin, pulling him up to stand beside him.

"You surprised me, Princess, I didn't think you could write something that moving." Gwaine punched Arthur in the arm as he came over to stand beside his two friends, winking at Merlin as he spoke.

Arthur scowled, but didn't rise to the bait; instead, he focused on the veiled compliment, and nodded his thanks to the knight.

"Very well done, Sire." Leon interjected in hopes of keeping the peace between the two men. Percival nodded his agreement.

"Oh, and Merlin, mate, good job with the law making bit—I lost you somewhere in there, I'll admit, but it sounded good."

Merlin laughed. His infectious laughter, and because they probably felt just as lost at the technicalities of Merlin's magic code as Gwaine had admitted, caused the knights and king to join in with their own chuckles .

As a few more jokes were passed around between the men, one of the chieftains separated from the retreating groups, making his way towards the Camelotian party. He was not much older than Arthur himself, with a slimmer frame and dark brown hair.

"King Arthur, Emrys, Sir Knights" the Druid dipped his head in respect

"My name is Tauren; I am the Chieftain of one of the smaller clans at the gathering. We move around alot, but usually reside in the north." the young man's eyes squinted as his smile pulled at his cheeks, "our lifestyle makes it a bit tricky to get news of the happenings in Druid circles. To be honest, it was a miracle we even received an invite to this gathering."

"Well I'm glad you could make it." Merlin replied, the heartfelt truth to his statement coming in through his friendly tone of voice.

"It's good to meet you, Tauren." Arthur smiled, holding out a hand to the Druid. Tauren looked at him in surprise, but hesitantly returned the gesture, his arm coming out from the dark green cloak to grasp the king's forearm.

The knights stepped forward and repeated the greeting.

"No disrespect, but, from my experience, you chieftains are usually old "wise" guys, right? Aren't you a bit young to be a chieftain?" Gwaine gestured at the Druid with a wave of his hand. Leon shook his head in exasperation at the bold remark, but Tauren didn't seem to mind.

The Druid laughed, "None taken. I _am_ rather young for the traditional clans, but well, our group is made of mostly younger druids who left their clans to find a more... accepting home. I admit, we would be considered the more radical clan when it comes to our views—especially those on bringing magic back to the land—but now, you seem to have taken care of that, in Camelot, at least."

"Ah."

Merlin cringed slightly as the image of Tauren and a group of young sorcerers attacking Camelot flashed unbidden in his mind. He felt a wave of relief at the thought of the new laws—he was glad he wouldn't have to confront this group.

"Well, then, I'm pleased everything turned out as it did."

"So am I," a small smile appearing on Tauren's lips. "I just wanted to let you know how much of an impact your speech made tonight. You are truly the Once and Future King of the prophecies."

Merlin watched Arthur straighten his posture at the praise, his face filled with a look that spoke of excitement and relief. "Thank you, I hope the rest of the chieftains feel the same way."

"Oh, I'm sure they do. Seeing you and Emrys together—your bond—has given them a new source of hope. It is no longer just an old prophecy, but two flesh-and-blood people with faces and names."

Merlin hummed in response as a comfortable silence descended on the group.

"Well, I must be getting back to my clan; I have to fill them in on the first meeting." Tauren nodded his head downward in a respectful salutation, "It has been a pleasure to meet you all."

"And you," Arthur "I look forward to what the rest of the gathering will bring."

"As do I."

Merlin watched the Druid, feeling slightly uneasy at the tone of the remark, but forcing a smile. He met Tauren's eyes before the Druid turned around, heading towards his camp. The warlock tried not to judge the young man without reason, but something wasn't quite right. It wasn't like he was unfriendly, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, hidden just beyond the surface. Merlin's magic swirled beneath his fingers, obviously sensing the warlock's inner turmoil.

Merlin, though, corrected his expression, quickly making sure that his unease was hidden from his friends. After all, he could be wrong about Tauren. He had met his fair share of mysterious people, many of whom, had turned out to be perfectly friendly. Merlin tried to relax his magic, taking a few slow breaths, and then attempted to turn his attention to the conversation the knights had started. But, before he did so, Merlin watched the Druid disappear among the tents. From now on, he would keep a watchful eye on Tauren.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

Not sure when the next update will be, considering Christmas is next Thursday, but it should be sometime in the next two weeks.

Please continue to follow, favorite, and review! I love hearing from you guys!

Until then,

Mirror


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

* * *

><p>"The witch must be stopped." Iseldir's voice rose above the chaotic chatter of the Druid groups.<p>

"Why must we become involved?" An older leader from the north, Teim, protested. Merlin had met him the previous night, and from their few moments of conversation the warlock had gotten the feeling that he had been quite content for the past years living a peaceful and isolated life in the mountains.

Merlin rubbed the spot between his eyes with his hand, attempting to block out the argument. This would definitely not be the high point of the gathering for him. Looking to his left, he watched Arthur, whose jaw was locked tightly in nervousness. They both knew what was at stake: this one discussion would determine the backing Camelot would receive for the coming war.

And while most Druids were in favor of helping Camelot, there were a few who seemingly could not put aside their past ways of life, or their fears, and face Morgana's allies.

The two men from Camelot had already spoken on the matter, opening the meeting with their requests and the facts of war, and now, all that was left was for the tribes to deliberate and come to a consensus… and anxious waiting on the part of King Arthur and his warlock.

"We are already involved! Morgana's men are being recruited from our own people!" Sedger—the elder's complete opposite—was a younger man, excitable and ready to jump into a battle. His eyes flashing, the pacifist Druid life was struggling for dominance in the hand of this chieftain.

"I agree! We need to fight, it's the only way!" Tauren passionately concurred.

Merlin's eyes narrowed at the all-to-eager tone of voice the Druid had used.

_Stop it, he's not about to jump up an attack anyone; he's just excited_, the warlock chided himself. Now was not the time to nit-pick the character of those supporting Camelot.

"Then why not ignore these renegades' requests, and take shelter in another kingdom?"

"You _know_ the prophecies, Teim, we cannot sit idly by and watch the witch's successor take over Camelot," Vidir piped up, joining his father's side of the argument.

"But we are a _peaceful_ people." A female voice forced it's way into the men's discussion.

"And what of Albion? No wise man desires war, Ller, but sometimes, it is necessary to protect the future. King Arthur and Emrys need us. We _must_ do our part in bringing forth the new age." Sedger was respectful in his response; Ller was an experienced Druid healer, and influential among her people. Merlin had been introduced to her, and because of his background as Gaius's apprentice, an eager conversation about herbs and remedies had ensued. A small smile spread across Merlin's face as he remembered Arthur standing by his side during the introductions, trying his hardest to stave off his bored-to-tears expression.

"I agree. If we stand by and do nothing, how does that make us any better than our brethren that sided with the witch—we will be just as at fault for the fall of Albion as they would." Iseldir reasoned.

Merlin listened to the Druid leaders' intense discussion, holding his breathe to see the outcome. Arthur stiffened beside him, as though steeling himself for the less than desired conclusion. No one could deny that war was coming, and the Druids would be valuable allies in the fight against dark magic. Even if some refused to fight, their healing abilities would be a welcomed skill.

Finally, after a few more heated bouts of disagreement, the chieftains and elders lapsed into silence.

Merlin waited with baited breath until Iseldir, as always, made the first move,

"My clan will help Camelot—who else will join us?"

The warlock felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes as a chorus of affirmations rose from the group and raised hands were witnessed around the circle.

All groups had volunteered.

* * *

><p>Merlin closed his eyes, and exhaled a relaxing breath.<p>

The tight grasp in which he often held his magic was one that he had erected as a small child. A couple of missteps and a few snide "monster" comments had brought a young Merlin to rein in his power, fearful of the people who didn't understand his abilities. He had kept his magic confined from then on out.

Now as Court Sorcerer, and though everyone in Camelot was aware of Merlin's magic, the warlock still hid the true breadth of his power. His magic was something that was noticeable—a beacon of sorts—that radiated from him. Because of this, Merlin hadn't let his mental walls down for years, and he had grown resigned to the fact that they would be something that would be necessary no matter if he was "free" or not. His magic was too dangerous to let free, especially among Camelot's citizens—those who would feel, but fail to understand the shifting power in the air. But here, in the middle of the forest, there was no reason to hold back. The Druids understood; they knew the true extent of his power. Furthermore, their magic would envelop his, and lessen the "beacon" that his power created.

Merlin was nervous and unsure of himself, but at the same time, he wanted to truly relax among these people.

Slowly, he weakened his instinctive hold on his magic, and let it go.

Merlin gasped softly at the release, the warmth of his power flowing through his body and out into the forest.

He was not the only one who felt the difference; immediately, there was a palpable shift in the air.

A few of the Druids glanced up at him, as they sensed the growing wave of magic flowing from the veins of the warlock and into the earth. The eldest of the sorcerers gave him an appreciative smile; her weary frames seemingly a bit straighter, and portraying more energy than she had previously exhibited. Merlin smiled back, though his eyes gave away the slight confusion he held at her appreciation.

He set his gaze down at his feet, in hoping that the curious eyes would shift off him and back to their conversations. But, his attention moved to the bright color of the fall moss. It should have been dull, drying up to take on its telltale winter state. Instead, the vibrant green carpet spread across the tree-filled area. Turning to the right, Merlin noticed the trunk of an oak—which he distinctly remembered as bearing a lightning bolt's scorch mark, was completed unmarred, the tree looking as healthy as those surrounding it.

Merlin's breath caught in his throat.

He forgot what it felt like to let his magic run free; he had forgotten what it could do.

The warlock's lips twitched into a smile.

* * *

><p>Across the clearing, the King of Camelot was speaking to a small group of Druids about settlement plans and trading agreements. Suddenly, a breeze blew through the air: fresh, reinvigorating, and containing a presence familiar to the king.<p>

It felt like Merlin.

What, was he doing magic tricks for the kids now? Arthur smiled at the thought.

But the sorcerers paused their conversation, eyes going wide in surprise, and jumping slightly, as though they had been shocked. The king was confused and glanced warily at his now-silent companions, unsure of whether or not to continue talking as though their strange reactions hadn't occurred.

Then, the Druids' gazes shifted beyond their circle. Arthur turned slightly, and followed their eyes. Across the way, Merlin was sitting with his own kaleidoscopic orbs hidden from sight. His hands clasped in the dirt, a soft hold on the earth beneath him as a light smile played on his lips.

He wasn't putting on a magic show for the Druids, as Arthur had believed.

He was just sitting there, a position the lazy servant often seemed to find himself in (according to Arthur).

But he wasn't _just_ sitting there.

The Druids beside him started murmuring amongst themselves, bringing the king's attention back to the group.

"What?" Arthur felt slightly annoyed at the obliviousness he seemed to be in.

"_Emrys._" They whispered, as though that was the only explanation needed.

"Merlin?" His nose twitched, "What's wrong?"

One Druid shook his head, effectively escaping the faraway look that had been shining in his eyes only moments earlier, "Oh nothing's wrong." He motioned his skull towards the other side of the clearing, "He's letting go."

Arthur's lips parted, one side sitting higher than the other, as his face became a mask of confusion. He lifted a hand to the bridge of his nose, squeezing lightly as he said, "I'm sorry, I'm still not following. What's this about Merlin 'letting go?'"

The Druid looked at him, amusement—something akin to an adult looking at a child who had said something bizarre—glowing in his gaze, "Emrys released his magic just now; he is letting go of the restraints he's placed on his power."

Arthur blinked. Restraints?

Merlin didn't need restraints. He was free now.

The king frowned at the thought.

"Excuse me." He moved around them with the soft parting words, and then made his way over to his soul-brother, oblivious to nature's newly green carpet beneath him.

Merlin had opened his eyes, and was now calmly watching his king as he came to stand beside him.

"Arthur," he acknowledged.

Arthur's gaze swept over the warlock. He seemed different. Brighter? More… Merlin? He radiated a comforting warmth that the king often found in the air when Merlin performed magic.

"What did you just do?"

Merlin shrugged, and pulled his hands from the dirt to rest on his knees in a relaxed position.

"Nothing."

"_Mer_lin, you obviously did something," Arthur was slightly hurt that the warlock had just lied to his face, but he pressed forward, "I was talking with those Druids just a second ago, and they seemed to believe that you had, as they put it, 'let go'."

Merlin bit on his lower lip—a tick, one Arthur knew preceded a lie.

So before the warlock could come up with an excuse, Arthur asked again, "What did you do? And don't lie to me."

The warlock held back a flinch at that last remark, and instead, let go of a sigh, the idea of lying to his king settling his lips into a frown.

"I, well, I let go?" The inflection was placed as a question, as though Merlin didn't believe his own words.

"What the hell does that mean, Merlin? I'm not asking you to spout the Druids' phrase back at me." The king looked at him with distraught eyes, annoyed at feeling like he was in the dark.

Merlin must have sensed Arthur's quickly decaying mood, and so, he patted the soil beside him, prompting the king to sit down..

"Arthur, it was nothing." Merlin hesitated as the king shifted at his side, "I, just—look, you have to promise me you won't get upset. We're in the middle of a Druid camp, and I don't need you yelling at me in front of them."

"Have an image to keep up, do you?" Arthur joked, before he fell back into the serious conversation, and nodded in agreement, "Alright, I promise."

He felt his heart stutter.

He thought he had hit the bottom of Merlin's secrets.

_Guess not, _Arthur let out a small sigh and turned his attention to his soul-brother.

Merlin took a deep breath and then opened his mouth. "Growing up I was afraid of my power. I didn't understand it, and no one around me did either. But it was always there, you could… I don't know, feel it—in the air; people who didn't even have magic could feel the difference when they were around me. And because of its constant presence, I was told to keep my magic hidden time and time again, so eventually… I did." Merlin's hands gripped at the knees of his trousers in an unconscious display of his anxiousness. "I've had these—these barriers for my magic for as long as I can remember."

Then, much quieter, came the heart of the matter, "I restrain it, my magic."

Arthur's heart dropped into his stomach. His heart suddenly ached at the thought of Merlin having to constantly control himself in such a way.

The Pendragon's eyes must have betrayed his emotions, because the warlock quickly shook his head, "No it's nothing like that, I don't have to think about doing it. These walls have become…" Merlin's brow scrunched as he sought for a proper description, "a habit, I suppose; something I don't even notice anymore."

"But—but you're free." Arthur interrupted, his voice tinged with a confused sadness that had managed to seep through his often-indifferent facade, "you don't have to hide it."

Merlin gave him a small smile, "Arthur," he breathed the name from his very soul, the fondness and love flowing through the two syllables, "I do. I can't control it otherwise… it's overwhelming—it's like a young colt, too hard to rein in if it's running free for too long."

"You don't have to 'rein it in' Merlin, you don't have to do that to yourself anymore." Arthur said frustratingly, the angles of his jaw tightening in anger.

"Arthur," again, the way Merlin spoke his name conveyed so much emotion, "do you _feel_ anything? Right now." He urged, "Do you feel anything? Notice anything different about me?"

"I…" He trailed off. He did, he could feel something, but he couldn't figure it out—put a name to it.

"My magic, if completely unbridled, is noticeable. It's _extremely_ easy for a sorcerer to locate." Merlin hesitated slightly before continuing, making Arthur believe he wouldn't like what he'd have to say next, "I am _always_ by your side, or at least, not far from it… and if you combine that with my magic, it's a beacon right to you. And that's a problem, say, if there was a vengeful sorcerer out there…"

Arthur's mouth went dry.

Over a month ago, he had promised himself he would never cause Merlin any more pain. But here he was… he just couldn't believe it.

Merlin would never truly be free, because of him.

The warlock had continued his small speech, but the shock of Merlin's admittance caused Arthur to block out the words. He could only hear his soul-brother's muffled voice, a soft hum latching on to the feelings of guilt Arthur was trying to control.

Finally, the king was able to rein in his emotions. Arthur opened his mouth, and Merlin immediately quieted, noticing the distressed look in the Pendragon's eyes.

"I… I'm—why Merlin, do I cause you so much suffering?" His voice cracked with emotion, and his vision blurred from the sides, though the king quickly blinked away the tears before they could become too noticeable.

The look Merlin responded with spoke to Arthur's soul; it was one of loyalty, brotherly love, and a forgiveness that was built from the previous two sentiments.

"Oh Arthur," Merlin released a soft laugh, though Arthur could hear the fondness behind it, "I'm am not suffering by your hand. Most powerful sorcerers have some sort of barriers in place for their magic, mine are just… more encompassing." He tried picking a word that wouldn't set Arthur off again, "I never told you about them because, well, first, I guess I forgot about them, and second, I suppose I didn't want you to feel this way—responsible—because you're not." Merlin pulled one of the king's hands into his grasp, and held it fast.

"Because of who I am—what I am, magic—I _have_ to put up walls. If I don't, my emotions would easily be able to control my magic." The warlock gave a small smile, a faraway look in his eyes giving away the memories he was remembering, "and given the annoying prat I work for, that wouldn't make me a very safe person to be around."

Arthur smiled at the joke, and without thinking about it, brought his free hand to lightly smack Merlin upside the head.

Then, remembering the topic of conversation, the king's smile melted into a solemn, concerned frown. "But Merlin-"

The warlock held up a hand to silence his brother, and then, bringing the hand to rest on Arthur's shoulder, he squeezed gently, "Arthur, please, this is just something that must remain. I know you want to make up for my life of secrecy—to make me free from my past burdens, but you must accept that these barriers are necessary." Merlin shrugged, "they're of no consequence in a sorcerer's grand scheme of things."

With his other hand, the warlock pointed his long fingers outward, gesturing to the others in the clearing, "ask each and every one of them that has magic, Arthur, and they'll tell you that these walls are a part of our lives… they'll also tell you that they hardly notice them."

Kaleidoscopic blue eyes met the slate gaze of their king. The stare drew out the silence, and Arthur waited for any hint, any indication of resignation in his former manservant's eyes.

But it never came.

Finally, Arthur brought his left hand up to grasp the comforting hold Merlin had on his shoulder. He didn't say anything, but Merlin didn't need words to know that his king had accepted the warlock's request.

"Thank you, old friend."

* * *

><p>As the sun reached its peak, the Druid camp came alive with activity. The gathering, when the discussions were not in session, was a great opportunity for the clans to interact and enjoy one another's company. Merlin, however, found his king sleeping in their shared tent. Fully clothed, Arthur was draped over the bed, limbs sprawled haphazardly and head muffled in the pillow, as if he had only promised himself to close his eyes for a moment but then accidentally ended up taking a nap.<p>

The warlock smiled. Arthur and Merlin had been too anxious to sleep for most of the night, and had stayed up talking about their experience at the camp. The king's worries, combined with that sleepless night, brought Arthur to an afternoon nap. Merlin knew that he probably would have dozed off if he didn't have his magic, which had, undoubtedly, created a store of energy for the sleep-lacking warlock.

Silently, Merlin released the tent flap from his grip, and slipped over to where the king snored softly.

"Let's have you lazy daisy!" The warlock crowed, bending over the bed.

Immediately, the surprised king's eyes snapped open, and were then quickly hidden as Arthur pulled an arm over his eyes, "Mhrln," he groaned, picturing the warlock's smirk in his head.

"Oh, don't be like that, you have people to see, children to interact with! You don't want everyone to know how moody you are." Merlin placed his hands on his hips, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I don't care." The king replied, stubbornly rolling over to hide his face in the pillow.

"So you admit, you _are_ moody." A chuckle followed from Merlin's lips.

Arthur groaned, ignoring the last comment, "you're impossible."

"I aim to please, Sire."

"Oh, that's what you call your nagging, is it?"

"Nagging? I like to consider it more as motivation. Someone's got to keep you functioning, it seems."

A pillow was thrown by the man lying on the cot, only for it to freeze in mid-air, and then magically fly back to smack Arthur in the face.

"Very funny Merlin. I only closed my eyes for a moment, there's no need for such dramatics."

"If by a moment, you mean since you left me, it's been close to two hours."

Arthur huffed, but didn't respond. Merlin smiled, knowing that the real reason for Arthur's silence was that he had been surprised at the length of his nap. They glared at each other for a moment—Merlin with his cheeky smirk, while the Pendragon scowled with mock annoyance—before turning away. The king pulled himself from the bed, walking over to the small basin. He splashed some water on his face, listening to Merlin putter around the tent, and then as he started straightening Arthur's bed.

"So, is there anything planned for this afternoon?" Arthur asked casually, trying to hide the fact that he did not have a clue of what his schedule looked like without Merlin to give it to him.

"Not that I know of." Merlin grunted, as he picked up a particularly cumbersome piece of armor, readying the polishing cloth. Looking up though, he saw Arthur's lost expression, "Oh come now, you can't seriously be thinking of taking another nap?"

Arthur's head shot up, and his eyes latched on to Merlin in an incredulous gaze—one that proved the warlock's guess was in the right.

Sighing, Merlin put the cloth and armor on the bed, and standing up, motioned to the tent flap. "If you need someone to hold your hand, then fine, I will be your babysitter and we can tour the camp. Ok?"

"I am not a child, Merlin,"

"You're acting like one—even took a nap like one." The warlock pointed out.

Arthur scowled, "I was merely resting my eyes."

"For two hours,"

"Merlin!" The king said, exasperated. "Let's just… I don't know; fine, we'll take a walk around the camp. Happy?"

Merlin chuckled, "I knew you'd see it my way." Winking, the warlock bounced over to the tent flap, and then pulled it aside, revealing the bright afternoon sunshine.

"After you, _Your Majesty_" the warlock gave an extravagant bow, swinging a hand toward the exit.

Arthur rolled his eyes before exiting the tent. He looked back at his best friend to see him follow him outside, "So mature, Merlin, as alw—oomph."

The king bumped into a solid form, forcing the air from his chest at the impact,

He blinked, focusing on the figure in front of him.

"King Pendragon?"

Recognizing his title, the king smiled, looking down to meet the gaze of a young Druid, "Arthur, please," he corrected.

"Arthur," the man nodded, a smile playing on his own lips at the friendliness of the Once and Future King of prophesies, "a few of us—" he pointed to a group of young men at the far end of the clearing, "—were wondering if you would show us some swordsmanship? Magic is often the Druid weapon of choice, but should blades become necessary, we would love to learn some better techniques."

Arthur looked thrilled at the prospect of a training session.

Merlin couldn't help but sympathize with the king's eagerness; while the warlock had been surrounded by the comfortable presence of magic these last few days in the Druid camp, Arthur was only in his element in two situations: diplomatic discussions and swordplay—and only the former had taken place.

The king fixed his smile to be a bit more restrained, but the happiness shining in his clear blue eyes went far beyond his words, "That is an excellent idea, I would be delighted to help you in any way I can…" Arthur faltered, waiting for the young man to provide his name as his hand unconsciously found its way to the hilt of Excalibur.

"Sellis, Sire," Sellis broke into a grin, and then, as if only just realizing Emrys stood beside the king, added, "we'll be waiting right over there when you are finished here."

"Thank you, Sellis, I'll be right over," both Merlin and Arthur nodded their heads in agreement and as a goodbye as the Druid made his way back to the group of sword-wielding Druids.

Merlin widened his eyes, and pulled his lips together in an attempt to stave back his laughter, "Someone looks happy,"

Arthur's gaze flickered to Merlin, the pure excitement dimming to playful annoyance, his cheek coloring at the warlock's statement.

"Well I do enjoy teaching swordplay to those eager to learn."

"I was never in that category, I suppose," Merlin conceded, making the king scoff,

"I had to drag you to the training grounds every time I wanted to make sure you could protect yourself!"

Merlin laughed, "That's because I didn't need to learn about silly pointed sticks! That's what magic is for!"

"_Swords_, Merlin, they're called swords, not silly pointed sticks! Don't belittle the weapon just because a flick of your wrist can solve your problems." Arthur huffed in the usual bantering tone, "Besides, sword fighting far outweighs magic in the areas of exercise and overall class. It's the weapon of kings."

"Yes, and of prats, I hear," Merlin responded sarcastically, earning him a slap upside the head. "Hey! Excuse me if I don't feel like prancing around in heavy, clunky metal, and sweating myself to death because I want to look _classy._" The warlock's lips turned up as he emphasized the king's prior wording.

"Merlin," Arthur growled,

The warlock merely smiled, and patted the king's shoulder in salutation,

"Well, have fun beating up on those young men!"

"If they prove to be no fun, you'll be next!" The king retorted, but the warlock just hummed in response, waving a hand behind him as he left the king to his afternoon of sparring.

"MERLIN!"

* * *

><p>Merlin had never had such freeing conversations. While being born with magic labeled him as the odd one out (like always), Merlin still found the magical way of life, and the nuances of spell-casting childhoods similar to his own. The Druids laughed at the recollection of their first spells, and the mishaps that often occurred as they grew into their magic. Merlin could sympathize with some such mistakes, but mostly he just laughed along, eager to hear about these people.<p>

The warlock added his own tales into the mix, regaling the Druids with some of his and Arthur's adventures, as well as stories from his childhood in Ealdor. They listened intently, laughing and gasping at the climaxes and the sticky situations in which Merlin and Arthur often found themselves.

A few hours passed by the light of the campfire, the darkness of the forest kept at bay with the brightness of the Druids' smiles and the fire's magically enhanced flames.

As the friendly chatter died, bringing a comfortable silence, Merlin turned to one of the southern clan's elders.

"Forlythe."

The skin around the woman's eyes crinkled as she looked to him and smiled, "Emrys."

"I heard that you were the one who created the invitations for this assembly."

"That is correct."

"I was wondering, if you would be able to teach it to me, the spell?" Merlin asked, his excitement at learning a new spell making his foot tap against the earth in anticipation, "Cadan and I discussed it on our way here, and I thought it would be a useful spell to know."

There was a pregnant pause before the Druid processed the request. When she realized what he was asking, her lips broke out into a soft smile.

"It would be an honor Emrys." Forlythe tilted her head in question, "have you not used spells like this before?"

"Not this way of sending messages, no. The only thing I know of the spell is its function. Cadan also said it took a fair amount of power."

"It all depends on distance, but yes, it does take a more experienced sorcerer to perform the spell." Forlythe leaned forward, pulling a hand from under her cloak, "now, you'll need an object to act as a vessel, such as the invitation."

Merlin thought for a moment before reaching behind his head. The warlock gently untied his neckerchief, and placed it in his palm, then thought for a moment, "Does the spell only work on magic users?"

"No, we Druids specify when casting," Forlythe explained, "I will teach you the general form of the spell—that way you can choose, if you so desire, to alter the wording for a more specific recipient."

"Thank you,"

The sorceress gave the warlock a kind smile, looking at his chosen vessel, "It is quite simple in concept, just don't forget, when you say the spell, push your magic into the object."

Merlin closed his eyes, and took a deep, meditative breath, preparing himself for the spell casting. When he was done, his blue gaze found Forlythe, and he nodded.

She set her hands on her lap, and in her grasp, was a roped leather necklace and wooden charm.

Then, the elder sorceress took her own deep breath, and spoke aloud, "Recite after me."

Looking down at her hands, Forlythe began, _"Ærendsecge mín ætwist rím onfōn_."*

Her gaze locked on the string of leather, flashing gold as the spell was completed.

Merlin immediately picked up on the wording, and the ancient language flowed off his tongue easily, his eyes burning gold as he pushed his magic into the well-worn fabric.

As the telltale signs of magic faded from his kaleidoscopic gaze, Forlythe nodded in approval.

"Well done, Emrys." She said simply, before slipping the leather jewelry around her neck once more, "it is not a permanent spell, however; the magic will dissipate in a week's time, leaving the object just as it was before you enchanted it."

Merlin hummed in response, he had figured it would wear out eventually,

"Thank you."

Then, to the surprise of the warlock, the older woman's eyes became glassy, and a single tear dripped from her lashes,

"No, thank you." Forlythe rubbed the tear away with the back of her cloak's sleeve, chuckling slightly to herself, "I never thought I would live to see the days of Albion... and to teach Emrys a spell!" Her voice cracked, and spoke of years of toil and sadness, but also of the bright future that would come with Destiny's predicted path, "it has been a true honor, Merlin."

The warlock blinked, his own vision becoming blurred at the woman's heartfelt words. He reached out and took one of her slightly wrinkled hands in his own, "Everything I am, as Emrys, is because of you and your people, Forlythe. You've had the harder task—of waiting and believing in a dream." Merlin's voice was soft, and gentle, imbued with a deep respect for the woman before him, "and so, if anyone here should be honored, it should be me… to stand among you and to be worthy of such a kinship. I should think that I have been given the greater gift."

Merlin leaned forward and placed a fond kiss on the sorceresses' forehead, and then, releasing her hand, stood.

He fingered the fabric of his neckerchief, before placing it back around his neck, where it belonged.

"Now," Merlin smiled, reining in his emotions, "I must go find that prattish Once and Future King of mine. I look forward to our next chat, Forlythe. It was a pleasure meeting you."

He bowed respectfully, and with a grace not many attributed to Merlin, left the clearing in search of his soul-brother.

Forlythe watched the young man she'd never dreamed existed—the legend of the Druids—as he meandered through the tents of her people.

And just like that, the decades of toil and hardship she had experienced melted away in that moment. The bitterness she once held for the Purge and the monarchy of Camelot overtaken by the fondness she had seen in the warlock's impish smile.

Long after Merlin had disappeared from the clearing, the elder sorceress brushed another tear from her eyes as she murmured softly,

"The pleasure was all mine, Emrys."

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

*send message/my presence to specified receiver

Well, there you have it—the last chapter of 2014. Thank you so much to everyone who has followed, reviewed, and favorited ODF and OEA so far. Your support has meant a lot to me, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Please review and let me know what you think! Things will start to pick up (finally) from this point, so stay tuned!

Until 2015,

Mirror


	7. Chapter 7

Happy 2015, everyone! Thank you all so much for the new years wishes, and I hope your years are just as great!

Anyway, SURPRISE! Here's my gift to you—an early update. Clocking in at just over 7,000 words, this is my longest chapter yet! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

* * *

><p>The air was growing crisp, fall making its presence known as the sun fell beneath the tree tops. Noise from the various campsites floated in on the breeze, filling Merlin's ears with the sounds of life, laughter, and contentment.<p>

He sighed, leaning back on the tree he sat in front of, and gazed into the fire, losing himself in thought.

Merlin was thinking about the various people he had met during the day, assessing their strengths for the coming battle, as well as their trustworthiness to Emrys, and likewise, the crown of Camelot.

Leon, Percival, and Gwaine were engaged in a conversation across the small clearing; Merlin could hear every word Gwaine threw in about the child he had seen magicking his clothes off at the camp today.

The craziness of the topic brought a smile to his lips, but the warlock didn't join in the discussion, knowing it would only cause some embarrassing childhood stories of his own to be revealed.

He'd rather not have that happen—especially in front of Gwaine.

Merlin let his mind wander after that, the murmuring of voices putting him in a comfortable trance-like state, until a familiar, much louder voice broke through his daydreaming.

"What are you trying to do, let the fire die?" The joking manner in which the question was placed alerted Merlin to the presence of his king.

He turned his head, noting the fond smile playing on Arthur's lips as the man entered the clearing.

Merlin responded with his own cheeky grin, and huffed in response.

Then, with a flash of Merlin's golden eyes, the fire was relit, the flames climbing high into the air and swirling with magical shapes of animals and plants.

"You're such a showoff, mate!" Gwaine winked, jerking his head towards his left, where a group of young female Druids had stopped to watched the campfire display. "I approve!"

Merlin's cheeks reddened slightly, and Arthur scoffed, kicking dirt up towards the knight as he walked past, and sat down on a vacant log. "Don't encourage him, Gwaine, or else no one back in Camelot will get any work done—they'll be too busy watching a magic show to see their jobs completed!"

"Don't be so dramatic, princess, Merlin was just doing what you asked him to do."

"I didn't ask him to be a girl." Gwaine shrugged, taking a swig from his flask of mead as Merlin's mouth hung open before he huffed it in protest,

"Hey! I am—"

"_Mer_lin," Arthur drawled, "you put flowers and unicorns in the fire! If you don't think that's girly, then you've obviously been around too many girls to notice your apparent lack of masculinity."

"Well, I remember a certain king _requesting_ those unicorns to frolic along in his personal hearth back in Camelot…" Merlin's smirk grew as he watched reddish coloring burn across Arthur's cheeks. "But, I guess I could be wrong, after all, unicorns are just _so_ girly."

"_Merlin_…" The king let the implied threats hang in the air, leaving the rest of it to the imagination of the warlock and knights.

Gwaine barked a laugh, shaking his head at the two men's antics, while on the other side of the fire, Leon and Percival let loose their own amused chuckles.

Arthur sighed loudly, as if to let Merlin know their bantering session had come to an end.

The warlock hummed, and, taking Arthur's sigh for what he knew it was, Merlin decided to rein in the conversation, "So how did the Druids fare at their training today?"

Arthur pursed his lips and nodded, thinking of the best way to put the men's attempt at swordplay.

"It wasn't… terrible."

"That bad?" Merlin's eyebrow raised in what was commonly referred to as the 'Gaius brow.'

"I think it would be best if they stuck to magic; they don't have quite enough experience to go handling a blade in battle. But, if it was _truly_ necessary, there were a few today that learned enough to be able to hold their own for a while."

Gwaine snorted at that, but kept silent.

"I'm sure that if some came to Camelot with us, we would be able to teach them better techniques." Leon commented tactically, thinking over the advantage of having sorcerers in the knights' ranks.

"I agree," Arthur took a bowl from beside the fire, and from the cooking pot beside it, spooned out at a decent portion of that night's dinner—a late night snack, if anyone asked, "I think I might talk to a couple of the men tomorrow, Sillis included, about joining in Camelot's new venture. I believe they'd be able to handle the weapons training, and they would be able to get the knights to be more comfortable around magic." Arthur ate some of the still-warm stew, and then, after chewing, continued, "After talking with the men before we left, I get the impression they are open and willing to the idea of a sorcerer's guard."

Merlin smiled, a proud feeling building up in his chest at the thought of the knights so readily accepting those with the magical gift. Meeting the king's gaze, the warlock gave him an appreciative nod, his eyes glowing with more emotion than his smile could portray.

"Good move, Princess, I'm proud of ya," Gwaine raised his flask, giving the king his own sort of toast, before taking another generous swig from the container.

Arthur opened his mouth—no doubt to respond with a pointed, but joking in his own way, comment about the knight's drinking habits—but before he did, he was interrupted by a newcomer,

"Good evening to you, Sire, Emrys, Sir Knights."

Tauren appeared in the clearing, his head bobbing in greeting to the Camelot men.

"Hello Tauren, I hope you have had a pleasant day," the king welcomed him to the fire with an amicably waved hand.

The Druid came forward, the firelight casting its glow on his face, accentuating the angular shapes of his chin and nose, "I did; it was quite a day, but the gathering has only just begun. I'm sure there will be more excitement to follow—and I'm looking forward to it." Tauren smiled, pushing his hands out of his druidic cloak as he warmed them over the fire, "one can only talk for so long before they pine for action, though I'm sure you understand that better than I do," he motioned to the warrior king, who nodded in approval.

"I've been trained all my life on how to use language in order to gain the favored outcome, but sometimes, action is the best way to accomplish something—I myself prefer it." Arthur agreed.

Merlin turned his head from his king to the Druid just in time to watch the sorcerer's smile grow wider; Tauren's eyes were lit with an almost crazed passion.

"I couldn't agree more, Sire."

The man's words caused a chill to race down Merlin's spine, his magic buzzing under his skin as though it felt it needed to be used. Merlin forced it down, but the swell of power—which was no longer hidden by any magical barriers—must have been noticed by the Druid, as Tauren's gaze flickered to the warlock before quickly refocusing on the king.

A few moments of awkward silence pervaded the group, the men of Camelot unsure of where to start a new topic of conversation, and the Druid seemingly content to let the quiet continue.

But then, he cleared his throat, and began again, "Ah yes, I forgot my reason for coming by; one of the clans has decided to throw together an impromptu evening of storytelling. I was drafted to invite you to their campsite—Iseldir's tribe, to take part in the festivities."

"Sounds like fun!" Gwaine piped up, already making a move to stand.

Arthur hesitated for a moment, showing Merlin that he was clearly comfortable to waste the night away by their fire, and then to turn in and hopefully get some extra sleep.

But, they were not here at the Druid gathering to catch up on their rest.

Merlin saw the battle in Arthur's clear blue eyes. He watched with a smile as his king's eyes shifted, the monarch and diplomatic sides of Arthur's personality winning the internal struggle.

"We would be honored to attend, Tauren," the Pendragon said, graciously accepting the offer as he set down his bowl, "we'll just finish up here and then be on our way in a moment."

"Very well, I will see you all there shortly," the Druid bowed, and then turned, disappearing behind the tent and back around in the direction of Iseldir's camp.

Once the Camelot group was alone, Arthur stood, and stretched his arms out above his head, exhaling as he did so. "Alright," the king shifted, and kicked dirt over the fire, watching as the flames died out slightly before returning with renewed vigor. He growled, "Merlin."

The warlock didn't need to be told twice. His eyes golden, Merlin directed the fire to be put out, and in a moment, the charred sticks were all that remained.

"Thank you," Arthur directed Merlin a quick, but appreciative glance, and then motioned to the direction Tauren had went, "Now it's time for us to all sit around and play story time,"

"I've got quite a few tales I'd be happy to share," Gwaine waggled an eyebrow suggestively, causing Leon to groan, and Percival to playfully shove the man.

"Please Gwaine, no more barmaid stories. I can't handle hearing another one of your exploits!" The curly-haired knight exclaimed.

Merlin laughed, "And I doubt the audience here will be appropriate for such tales," reminding the man about the children that would no doubt be in attendance; after all, children _loved_ stories.

"Those poor children," Percival whispered in joking sympathy, because, Gwaine would most definitely let one or two of his tales slip out, no matter if kids were listening in.

The king let out a peal of laughter, shaking his head in defeat, "let's just hope the Druids don't think Camelot knights spend more time in the tavern than on the training field. We're here to make a good first impression, Gwaine, though I doubt you've cared to notice that."

In response, the knight flashed an 'angelic' smile, and then started crooning his favorite bar song, leading the group off towards the Druid festivities.

* * *

><p>Surprisingly, Gwaine kept his stories to a more innocent mind frame, and everybody around the fire was laughing along as the knight regaled them with the tale of Felicity the barmaid.<p>

Merlin, having actually been present at the time of this story's making—not to mention the thousand times Gwaine told him the tale, forgetting the servant had been beside him—let his eyes wander around the circle of Druids.

Beyond the gathered individuals, he noticed Iseldir, still listening, but sitting alone by the entrance to his tent.

Leaving his spot behind Arthur, Merlin flashed the king a quick smile, and then walked away from the fire and approached the familiar Druid.

"Iseldir," he greeted.

The Druid looked up, acknowledging the warlock's presence with a nod as he motioned for Merlin to take a seat.

He hesitated only slightly before obeying. After a month, the warlock's anxious thoughts could no longer be contained. While Merlin yearned for the answers to his questions, he was also afraid of what he could discover. He had wanted to talk to someone about his worries, but he didn't want to burden Gaius or Arthur, or worry his mother. At the same time, he also knew there was no one in Camelot that could give him the answer he needed, not even Kilgharrah.

There were only a handful of people who could help him.

"You have come to ask me something, Emrys." It was not a question.

"Yes."

Iseldir's knowing gaze swept over the warlock, "What's troubling you?"

"My name." The words came out quickly, as if they had been held back for far too long.

"Your name of birth, or of prophecy?" Iseldir asked slowly, although he continued as though the question need not have been asked, "I assume you speak of Emrys, since you are not asking your mother, but a Druid."

Merlin gave a nervous chuckle, and then exhaled a deep breath he had been holding. "In order to save Arthur's life, after Camlann, I bargained with the Sidhe for an exchange—my immortality, for his wound to be healed." The warlock looked beyond the Druid, searching for the words that would convey his feelings properly, "I gave up the very gift that my druidic name means… and yet each magic user I meet still calls me Emrys."

"We do." The Druid nodded in confirmation.

"But doesn't that change things? How can I be Emrys if the name means nothing anymore?" Merlin's brow scrunched in confusion, his voice taking on a sad, almost exasperated timbre.

"Perhaps it was always meant to be this way." The Druid shrugged, slowly speaking his thoughts as the words came to him, "Perhaps… Destiny gave you immortality, knowing you would give it up in an act of sacrificial love to save your king?"

When the warlock remained silent, the Druid gave a soft smile, "To us, Emrys is not just its meaning. Your title is a symbol of hope. You have brought about the change we have been dreaming about for decades. Magic has been reborn." Iseldir leaned a bit closer to Merlin, his voice lowering as if the passion in the tone weighed the words down, "Losing your immortality means nothing to those who understand more than just our people's stories."

"But—"

The chieftain silenced the warlock with a hand, his druidic symbol visible in the candle's glow, "The power you have been gifted with is not by accident. You are needed to protect the Once and Future King. That is your purpose, immortality or not."

Merlin looked over Iseldir's shoulder, toward his soul-brother. Arthur sat with his knights and a group of Druid chieftains, their laughter floating on the wind towards Merlin, lifting his spirits.

"You two have a great Destiny." Iseldir said softly, bringing a small smile to Emrys' lips,

"But you must be careful, Emrys."

At the warning, Merlin brought his gaze back to the older man,

"While losing your immortality did not affect your magic, it does make you more vulnerable. I know you have been close to death before, but it is not just your magic that has made you hard to kill—without immortality, you will be much more susceptible to dying of unnatural means, blood loss, or wounds."

Merlin frowned at the sobering thoughts, his multitude of scars seemingly itching at the reminder of his past discomforts, "Are you saying that my immortality gave me a sort of invincibility? That the reason I survived so long while under the effects of poison, Serket venom, and the Dorocha, even, was because of my immortality?"

The Druid gave a slight nod, "Not solely, but yes. Immortality made it nearly impossible for you to die of these things, but you were not entirely invincible." Iseldir waved a hand over one of the candles, and it flickered with the wind the movement created, "but since Camlann, and with every day in your future, your life will not be as impervious to danger as it once was."

"Well, regardless of my lost immortality, I will still protect Arthur with my life." The resolute tone of Merlin's voice strengthened at the thought of the young king.

The chieftain clicked his tongue, "Your dedication to the Pendragon is inspiring, but a lack of self preservation will not bring about Albion. Arthur needs you, Emrys. To lose you would cause irrevocable damage to Destiny's plans."

"Arthur could—"

"You misunderstand me, for I do not only speak of Albion, but of Arthur himself. Losing you would break the king, Emrys. Look inside yourself—remember what you felt at the Isle. You know the pain of which I speak. The Once and Future King and Emrys are two sides of the same coin; one cannot live long without the other." Iseldir's gaze bore into the warlock, reflecting the seriousness of the conversation.

Merlin closed his eyes and thought back to the Isle, to the journey that followed him in his nightmares. He could picture everything as clear as day; Arthur, weak and pale, as he grasped at his servant-turned-sorcerer's neck, forcing the words of thanks from his lips as his eyes flashed with an emotion Merlin rarely saw in the king's blue orbs: fear. The Pendragon though, by that one-armed, frail motion, displayed the trust and brotherly companionship that he had rebuilt with Merlin over the course of the trip. At first, before he came to understand Merlin's ingrained gift, Arthur had been forced to watch as the manservant he 'thought he knew' used magic, an unnatural force that he had been trained to hate. But how ever hard those days had been for the king, they had been just as difficult for Merlin—if not more so—watching the other side of his coin growing feebler as his life slowly and painfully left his body.

But then came the moment when the Once and Future King closed his eyes to the world, his arm falling down to his lap as he slipped into unconsciousness. Merlin had panicked, thinking that Arthur had finally left him for good.

The warlock never wanted to feel that lost again.

Merlin knew he couldn't live like that: alone, half of Destiny's coin.

It wasn't possible.

He couldn't.

_He wouldn't._

The emotions Merlin had felt at the Isle, as well as those that found their way into his nightmares, took his breath away. But, as soon as the wave of emptiness left him with the ability to breath once more, Merlin inhaled long and slow, forcing his heart to calm in his chest.

Gaius had told him how to react to such forces of emotion, in order to stave off attacks like the one he had experienced only a few short days ago, after their confrontation with bandits. His methods didn't always work, but luckily for him, the magic in the camp helped relax his nerves, easing the panicked feelings from his mind.

Merlin concentrated on his breathing as Iseldir's voice broke through, "He needs you by his side, Emrys. Difficult trials are ahead of you, but you must be strong. You must fight for Arthur."

The Druid's last sentence resonated within Merlin's soul, bringing an image of Arthur to his mind's eye, one where the king stood regally, Excalibur held high in the warrior's strong grip.

The Once and Future King.

His Arthur.

Merlin knew Iseldir was right; in that moment, he knew what he needed to do.

He needed to fight.

He _would_ fight.

The bond of Destiny demanded that Arthur need a warlock—his Emrys… and who was Merlin to let Destiny—or his king—down?

* * *

><p>By the time Arthur finally entered the tent it was well past dark. The king gave a tired sigh as he let his hand release the door flap, letting it fall closed behind him.<p>

Arthur was exhausted.

But, it was a pleasant kind of exhaustion, not unlike the kind a knight feels after a long day of training, or the satisfied fatigue Gaius feels after declaring a patient safe enough to not require his constant observation.

And while the Pendragon felt tired, he had still led an accomplished day.

His relationship with the Druid people continued to develop, pleasing Arthur immensely; and although it was a lot of talking and required the keeping up of a somewhat kingly image, Arthur felt that he was finally bridging the gap between the magical and nonmagical world—overcoming years of hatred built up from the Purge.

"Arthur?"

The king's gaze swept over the room until he found the warlock reclining on his cot.

Merlin, on hearing his soul-brother's sigh, lifted his eyes from the book he had been reading. A candle was lit next to his bed, an unnaturally bright flame—_magical, no doubt, _Arthur thought—illuminating the tent's interior. "Everything alright?"

"Mmm," the king hummed, dropping his scabbard to the floor as he plopped himself onto his own cot, "Yes, just tired. It's been a long day."

Merlin nodded in agreement, "Yes it has. I for one, was very excited to call it a night… the perfect night to catch up on my reading and relax with a good book."

"Because you haven't been doing enough of that recently." Arthur retorted sarcastically, thinking back to the large expanse of books in Merlin's chambers, and the multiple times he had come across the warlock, deep in one of those dusty volumes.

"You act like that's a bad thing."

"It's not entirely awful, I suppose. Gods know you need _something_ to fill that empty brain of yours."

"Well, at least I have a brain that will _retain_ the information, unlike some prats I know."

"No one likes a know-it-all, Merlin." The king drawled, pulling his boots off and setting them beside his cot.

"Exactly, no one likes someone who thinks they know it all," Merlin responded quickly,

"Yes, that's what I just said," Arthur's brow knit in confusion, until Merlin's point dawned on him, and his lips turned down into a scowl,

"Merlin?"

"Shut up?"

The king hummed his approval at the correct response.

They sat in companionable silence for a short time. As Merlin went back to his book, the king realized that the warlock had laid out his nightclothes on a nearby chair. Unwilling to have his competency in dressing himself questioned, Arthur set about getting ready for bed.

A flash of longing swept through his mind as he thought of his wife. It had been some time since he had been away from Guinevere for so long, and his heart ached at the thought of her, busily running Camelot while he was away. With a small jolt in his stomach, he realized that the last time he had been away so long was the battle at Camlann.

When this was all over, he would have to remember to show her more appreciation.

His mind returned to the camp as his gaze swept over his brother—the other most important person in his life.

The bright candle illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp curve of his cheekbones, and the relaxed posture of his body. The warlock's kaleidoscopic eyes gleaming with interest as he thumbed through his book. His magic, now free amongst the camp, was like a warm blanket to Arthur.

Hesitant to disrupt Merlin's reading, the king readied himself as quietly as possible; but, after he was done, Arthur stood in the middle of the room, unable to find something to keep him occupied. So, unable to stand the silence any longer, the king turned to his warlock,

"What are you reading about?"

Merlin chuckled as his lips pulled into a smile, but he didn't look up from the pages,

"Bored, are we, Sire?"

Arthur snorted, somehow not surprised, and in a way, expecting such a cheeky response.

This was _Merlin_, after all.

"I'm just asking, am I not allowed to be intrigued? I can't exactly read the title on the cover now can I?" He motioned to the runes of the Old Religion splayed across the front of Merlin's tome.

In mock exasperation, the warlock slapped both covers together, shutting the book, "It's a book on complicated healing spells, if you must know," Merlin's whiny tone forced Arthur to hold back a grin.

"Trying to improve your mostly rubbish healing attempts?" It was Arthur's turn to take a dig at his soul-brother.

"Ha ha, that's too funny," Merlin pouted, "just remember that those rubbish attempts at healing saved your life quite a few times!"

Although said in jest, the comment brought a more serious air to the tent, blanketing the atmosphere in a somber mood.

"I know, and I'm thankful for that—for all you've done for me," the king said softly, breaking the silence that had taken hold of the space between them.

Merlin looked up, his eyes displaying the loyalty, fondness, and love he held for his brother. Beside him on the cot, lay his book, now discarded and forgotten.

"And I'm grateful they worked," Merlin had tried to lighten the mood with a slight chuckle, but the foundation of their shared words did little to change the uncertain gleam in the warlock's eyes. "I just thought that, well, now that I can help out in the open, I should learn the important stuff."

Arthur would have responded, his mouth was open and ready, but the warlock looked down at his lap, and then continued, "I feel something… like…" Merlin brushed a hand over his face in a frustrated exhaustion, "I don't know. Something's just wrong. I can feel it—well, rather, _my magic _can feel it."

Sensing that his brother would go off on a wild, worried tangent, the king intervened. Arthur walked over to Merlin, and knelt down beside his bed,

"Merlin," he said, the emotion Arthur breathed into the name bringing the warlock's eyes to his king.

"We can handle whatever comes next. If you really felt that off, you should've come talk to me… you don't have to hide anymore." The last words were tacked on with a softer, more hesitant tone.

"I know," Merlin insisted, his intense gaze soaking up each detail of his king. After his talk with Iseldir, the warlock needed to be near Arthur—to feel the strength of his life force as though Camlann never happened. It was out of desperation, really, that he had originally picked up the spell book. He needed to distract himself with something useful, something he could tie back to helping his king; and what else could help Arthur better than healing magic?

So, the warlock had dedicated his evening to learning more complicated healing spells, ones that would have been useful to do such things as to have eased Arthur's pain during the trip to Avalon, or, all those years ago, to have saved the then-prince from an arrow to the back.

Destiny had given him the role of protector, and Merlin wasn't about to mess it up.

From here on out, Arthur would be safe under his watch.

Merlin sighed, "I should have told you… I'm just so used to doing this by myself. But I'm trying—I really am." He hurriedly got out the last few words, as though to stop the king from going off into another 'you can trust me' speech.

The seriousness melted in Arthur's eyes, replaced by a sense of concern for his warlock, and behind that, bounced a happier, more amused emotion.

"I understand that it will take a while to get used to, but remember, Camelot is just as important to me as it is to you. I want to protect my people—_let me_ protect my people _with_ you." He paused to let the words sink in, before he spoke again, "Does your magic still feel… off?" Arthur hoped that would make sense to Merlin, as he was still slightly unsure how to address the man's magic.

Merlin nodded, "Yes, it's… itchy, like, it buzzes just underneath my skin, wanting me to use it. I just don't know why."

"Hmm…" Arthur couldn't think of anything that demanded the warlock's attention at the moment. Sure, there was an army of sorcerers soon to be converging on Camelot, but amongst the Druids, certainly the prophesied Emrys would be safe?

"Maybe you're just tired," thinking out loud, the king realized how true this explanation could be. After all, Merlin had collapsed after Camlann due to a lack of magic and energy. The current buzzing could be Merlin's body warning him about his low energy levels.

Arthur laid a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet, "Get some rest, and let me know if this buzzing continues."

Merlin nodded, meeting his gaze with a grateful smile.

"Goodnight Arthur."

With a glance of the warlock's eyes, the candle snuffed out, leaving the tent in darkness as Merlin situated himself in his covers.

The king pulled back the thin blanket of his own cot, and climbed in. Shifting a few times to get comfortable, Arthur finally plopped his head onto his pillow. He looked over at the other side of the tent, and noting that Merlin's breathing had already started to even out in preparation for sleep, let his lips pull into a thin smile, "Goodnight, Merlin."

* * *

><p>Merlin woke with a start.<p>

Had he heard a sound? Did someone call for him?

The warlock looked across the dark tent; nothing was out of place. His gaze then traveled across the space, noting with satisfaction, that the king was slumbering safe and sound. But still, an uneasy feeling held his magic at the ready. Merlin eased the blanket off his body, and silently swung his legs over the side of the cot, slipping his boots over his socked feet. Grabbing his cloak from on top of his pack, Merlin crept over to the tent flap.

Outside, the air was crisp and filled with the scent of campfire smoke. It was very early in the morning—before sunrise—and yet quiet murmurs ran through the breeze, conversations carried from the first-lit firesides. But besides the calming background noises, and those of the forest, Merlin's ears picked up nothing.

"Hello?" The warlock took a few steps, and then glanced to either side, his magic at the surface, ready to use if necessary.

A twig snapped, and Merlin twirled in reaction, his hand splayed out protectively in front of him.

"Oh, Emrys, I didn't mean to startle you." A familiar voice came from the shadows.

"_Leote_,"* a blue-white light appeared between the warlock and the other cloaked figure, illuminating their features.

Merlin relaxed, his hand falling back to his side. "Tauren, you're up early."

"I couldn't sleep, too much excitement in the air I suppose." The Druid shrugged, walking closer to Merlin. "You feel it too, I presume?"

"No—well, I mean—yes, it's all very exciting, but that's not why I'm up. I thought I heard something, so I came out to take a look." The warlock stumbled. Merlin's magic felt skittish, making him, in turn, rather on edge. _Tauren's a friend, _Merlin chided himself, _calm down. He's not interrogating you; just being friendly._

Tauren's eyebrows arched in amusement, but he simply nodded at the warlock's response before he continued on to another topic. "Is your king enjoying the gathering as much as you, Emrys?"

Merlin smiled fondly, "Yes, I believe he is. Arthur doesn't understand much concerning the Old Religion, so some of the details are lost on him, but overall, he's just as excited as I am to be a part of something like this."

"I'm glad, I'm glad…" Tauren's eyes glinted in the light of Merlin's magic. "Emrys, would you mind accompanying me to my clan's campsite? It would be an honor if you would tell us of more of your adventures."

Merlin glanced at his tent—now to closer to the Druid, than to himself.

"He will be perfectly fine without you for a few hours, after all, he's only sleeping." Tauren had read Merlin's thoughts like a book.

The warlock's eyes moved from the tent back to the cloaked sorcerer. It would be nice to mingle with more of the Druid clans, perhaps it would make forming allies easier for Arthur if Merlin was able to get a better read on them. But still, something was not quite right. His magic was still excitable, thrumming through his veins as though calling for his attention, a warning.

The warlock, however, found himself nodding. "I suppose I've had enough sleep for a while. And hour of stories wouldn't hurt."

"Great," a grin spread across Tauren's face, "we're camped this way." The Druid pointed behind himself, from where he had originally stepped from the shadows. Merlin plastered a smile on his face, and replaced any sign of unease with a friendly façade. Tauren turned, and began walking from the small clearing. Merlin took a step, and then looked back at the tent. Whispering a quick warding spell, Merlin's eyes flashed gold, the tent shimmering for a few seconds before fading back to normal.

Quickly, the warlock made his way to Tauren's side, the ball of light following beside him. "So, what stories did your clan want to hear? I've lost track of which ones I've already told," Merlin laughed, partially to himself, "most of my tales have a rather similar storyline: a prat of a king gets in trouble, and then a servant warlock must secretly save the day all while pretending to be an idiot."

The Druid chuckled at the short plot summary, before responding to the original question, "Oh, no particular story. I'm sure any you would like to tell will be received by eager listeners." Tauren's casual attitude wormed its way into Merlin's already overanalyzing mind. His magic spiked, the powerful discomfort causing Merlin to inhale sharply.

The Druid glanced at the warlock. "Is something the matter?"

Merlin hesitated, before shaking his head. He took a breath to try and calm his magic, to get it under control. "No, I'm fine," then, "do you feel anything, unusual… wrong?"

"Wrong?" Tauren pulled his lips into a thin, serious line. "I feel perfectly normal."

Merlin grunted in response. He was annoyed with his magic. If he could, Merlin felt like scolding it like a child; it was causing him to unfairly question the Druid before him.

"Well I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just from all the excitement of the last few days." Merlin sidestepped over a few gnarly tree roots.

"Mhm." Tauren pushed a couple of large leaf-covered branches from the path, and held them back for Merlin. The warlock passed the Druid, and walked in to what Merlin guessed was Tauren's campsite. But, the tents had been collapsed and all belongings had been packed. It looked as though the camp had spent all night dismantling their site. The Druid's who had been sitting by the fire now stood, casting long shadows across the open space.

Merlin turned around to face Tauren. "Are you leaving the gathering early?"

Tauren didn't respond but chose to smile instead. Merlin was about to repeat his question, his stomach dropping in dread, when, from behind, a cloth was shoved up against his nose and mouth. Merlin's magic flared to life, throwing the offending hand—and its owner, across the clearing. The warlock stumbled forward, making to leave the camp, but his limbs suddenly refused to cooperate. His vision blurred, and he took a gasping breath as his heart thumped wildly in his chest. Merlin tripped, and he thrust out his hands to catch his fall. Knees colliding painfully with the ground, Merlin blinked rapidly, trying to ready his magic in case of another assault. His eyes could only make out a few blurry shapes moving near the light he'd created.

"Tauren?" Merlin pushed himself to his knees, only to be knocked back down by someone he couldn't see. Merlin panted, his lungs suffering under whatever he had inhaled from the cloth.

He had to get to Arthur. Were they attacking him too? He couldn't feel anything from the ward he'd placed on the tent, but with all his senses in disarray, Merlin doubted he would be able to distinguish his own distress from the spell right now.

"_Áb_—_Ábeþece Arthur_."*

On Merlin's command, the orb of light sped from the clearing, throwing him into a rapidly growing darker situation, making it impossible for the warlock to make out any of the shapes surrounding him.

But protectiveness for his king sent Merlin to his feet. By now, blackness tinged the edges of his already blurry vision, and he couldn't seem to get enough oxygen into his heaving lungs. Merlin swung a trembling hand out in front of him, prepared to attack whomever decided to approach.

But he didn't understand.

He didn't want to attack, he wanted to talk, to ask the Druids why they were doing this, but his tongue wouldn't cooperate, and his mind didn't seem to be able to send anything along the Druid pathways of mental communication. He couldn't even think of the words to say.

"We got'im now."

"Tauren—"

"He'll be pleased, but…"

"…Emrys?"

Snippets of conversations found his ears, but they collided in such a mess that he wanted to shut them all out. Merlin's head pounded, his lungs burned, and his magic roiled beneath his skin. He fell to his knees again, vertigo taking hold over his balance. Merlin tried to form the Druid's name again, but his mouth just opened and closed, no sound being released other than his breathing.

The warlock reached for his magic, but it slipped away.

The last thing Merlin could comprehend was the sound of an owl hooting in the trees above. Then blackness.

* * *

><p>Arthur woke to the early morning sunshine peeking through the tent's opening. He blinked, grunting as he turned over on his side, unwilling to remove himself from the cot. After all, any minute now Merlin would be dragging him out of the covers. The king slipped his bleary gaze over to the other side of the tent, waiting to spot an already awake warlock. Arthur frowned.<p>

Merlin's covers were pushed aside, and the cot empty; also, his shoes and cloak were missing.

_Did he seriously leave without waking me?_ Arthur's annoyance brought him to a sitting position. Sighing, the king bent down and slipped on his boots and then dressed in a clean shirt and jacket. _Merlin better have a decent breakfast waiting._

Arthur finished readying himself, and then grumpily pushed aside the tent flap, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust his eyes more quickly to the sunlight. He looked around the small clearing, searching in vain for a sign of ruffled black hair and dark cloak.

"Merlin?" Arthur called out, interrupting the morning quiet. He listened for a response, but only the sounds of the forest, and muffled talking filled his ears.

The king, a bubble of fear growing in the pit of his stomach, marched forward, searching for the nearest campfire. Weaving around the tents, he finally caught sight of movement.

"Merlin?"

Arthur found himself at the center of attention of a small group of Druids.

No Merlin in sight.

He coughed, hiding his embarrassment at interrupting their morning meal. "I ah, good morning. Have any of you happened to see Merlin—I mean Emrys, up and about?"

The Druids returned the question with blank stares, but after a few moments, the one closest to the king spoke up.

"No Your Highness, I haven't seen him. Is he not by your tent?"

Arthur shook his head, "I can't seem to find him."

The Druid—Arthur remembered him to be the chieftain Sedger—frowned, and then looked to his friends. A conversation seemed to be occurring between them, entirely by their glances; then Arthur remembered their ability to mind-speak. They were probably discussing him right now. _As if this could get any more uncomfortable._ The king rolled his eyes.

Eventually, they looked as though they had come to some sort of agreement, and Sedger, the Druid that had spoken earlier, found Arthur's gaze.

"Come, let me see if I can help you. With such power that Emrys has been releasing, I'm sure I can trace his magical signature to his location. If not, I will try to communicate with him telepathically. No need to worry."

The king gave the cloaked man a grateful smile, and led him back to the tent he shared with his Court Sorcerer.

But, as soon as they entered the clearing, the Druid stiffened.

Arthur felt his heart drop at the man's reaction.

"What? What is it?" Arthur's voice caught on the last word, his eyes searching the Druid's gaze frantically.

The sorcerer shook his head, as if to escape the effects of an enchantment, and turned to the king, "There is a protective ward around your campsite."

Arthur was taken aback, "Well, yes, Merlin usually puts one up when we're in the forest."

"No, Sire, you misunderstand. It was placed there very early this morning—or perhaps, late last night—it's hard to be certain. But, it was well after you and Emrys retired from the festivities for the evening."

The king's mouth went dry. What was the Druid implying?

Sedger's jaw clenched and his brow furrowed as if he had found more disturbing revelations.

"Did Emrys mention anything about retracting his magic last night? Putting up his magical barriers again?"

It was as if Arthur's heart had forgotten to beat for a few seconds; Sedger's questions also bringing the king's lungs to a short standstill.

With a small, quiet voice, he responded, as though breaking the sounds of the morning with his regal tones would be too much for the forest around him, "No, he never mentioned anything."

But after Sedger had mentioned it, Arthur knew. He knew something had gone wrong.

The protective, fond feeling of Merlin's magic had left the air. There was nothing here that radiated the lightness of the warlock's gift.

Arthur stalked forward, and lifted the tent's cover, blindly hoping to discover the warlock sitting on his cot, polishing his armor or something.

Instead, a blue-white flicker caught his eye. The Once and Future King's grip on the tent fabric loosened, and his heart beat in his throat.

He was all too familiar with that light.

"Sire?"

The Druid appeared in the side of Arthur's vision, but he couldn't take his eyes from the orb floating beside his cot.

"Merlin," he breathed. Quickly, the king turned on the sorcerer.

"Can you track him?"

"My lord?" Sedger's eyes scrunched in confusion.

"Merlin. Can you speak to him, or follow—follow his magical, uh—"

"Magical signature?"

Arthur's head bobbed up and down, his intense gaze following the Druid.

"I can try." The sorcerer closed his eyes, and took a deep meditative breath before his eyelids blinked back to reveal swirls of gold. A few seconds later they returned to their gray-green color, but swirled with something new—an emotion, but it was one that caused Arthur's stomach to drop and his heart to beat more rapidly than he thought possible.

His mouth opened to form words, but his worry kept him silent.

"I-I can't find him, Sire… at all." Sedger met the king's gaze with fearful eyes. "It's like he's disappeared."

Just then, the orb of light flashed, sputtered, and then blinked out completely, leaving the tent dark, save for the sunlight encasing Arthur's and the Druid's shadows.

Merlin and his spell—the only link connecting Arthur to the missing warlock—were gone.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

*Light

*Find Arthur

Another cliffhanger! Woohoo!

As always, thank you so much to all those who have reviewed, favorited, and followed—keep it up! I love to hear what you think!

Until then,

Mirror


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

* * *

><p>It had been during one of the first few weeks after Arthur legalized magic that Merlin had told him. They had been sitting by the fireplace in Arthur's chambers talking about instinctual magic, and somehow, the incident with the Morteus flower had come up.<p>

"_Is that what you did in the caves of Balor?" Arthur asked, the furrows in his brow illuminated by the flickering of the hearth's flames._

_Merlin cocked his head, pursing his lips in thought before responding, "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."_

_The king shot his warlock an 'are-you-kidding-me?' look, "The blue, glowing ball, Merlin. I _know_ it was you, even if you were unconscious at the time. I can recognize the feeling." He insisted, knowing that this act of magic _had_ to be Merlin. It made perfect sense—too much sense, if you took in account the warlock's extreme loyalty to his friends, for it not to be him._

"_Ah, that."_

"_Yes, _Mer_lin, that." Arthur stared meaningfully at his brother, waiting for him to divulge more of the story's details. When Merlin—seemingly lost in a daydream—remained quiet for nearly a minute, though, Arthur deliberately cleared his throat, pulling the young man from his thoughts._

_Merlin looked rather sheepish at that, and then finally spoke up, "…Well, Gaius told me that I had performed the spell, but I don't actually remember it. At all." The warlock shrugged, "he says he thinks it has something to do with our connection."_

"_Our… connection?" Arthur spoke slowly, unsure of what his former manservant was trying to get at._

_Merlin nodded, moving to lean comfortably into the back of the cushioned chair, "As you know, my magic was given to me with the purpose of protecting you. In the case of the Morteus flower, you were in danger, and I was not there to protect you, so Gaius believes that my magic acted on Destiny's behalf—that I conjured that ball in my fevered state, because my physical body was in danger, and therefore, unable to help you."_

"_So, you're saying that because of our prophetic _connection_, your _magic_ attempts to alert me of danger when you're not around to do it?" Arthur pushed sarcasm into the words, trying to ignore his mind's attempt to create images of Merlin suffering through poison. _

"_Not exactly. I think it only responds when I am in mortal danger myself. It has yet to respond to danger when I'm simply not near you."_

"_Oh." The young king shivered, his heart echoing a desire to never see that beautiful glowing orb again. _

At the time, Arthur had thought that seeing the orb again would be one of the worst moments of his life. He had imagined the scenario taking place in the very distant future, when his hair was no longer blonde, and a new generation of knights fought for the kingdom. He had imagined the orb, glowing in the midst of a battle, alerting him of his worst nightmare coming true.

But he had _never_ imagined that he would see it so soon.

He had never thought that he would see it in a time of tenuous peace.

And most of all, he had _never_, _ever_, expected the light to _go out._

The royal's hands trembled. He grasped the back of the chair in front of him—the only empty chair in the tent—willing his body to remain strong.

The group was gathered in a large tent filled with a sizable table and a couple of chairs. These were, for this special circumstance, reserved for the Camelot warriors; however, none had motioned to take the seats, and so, the Druid chieftains sat silently, watching their distraught guests.

Arthur, though, noticed none of the sorcerers as he slowly raised his head to look at the faces of his closest friends.

Leon was directly across from the king; his expression was unreadable, but his eyes displayed a deep sorrow and confusion. He was staring back at the Pendragon, with his hand rubbing the pommel of his sword in a nervous habit.

To Arthur's left was Percival, his gaze was locked on the floor, and hands clasped tightly together. The stiffness of his posture, and the worry lines etched into the large knight's face showed quite a different image from the man's usually quiet, but cheerful façade.

But Gwaine was the hardest for Arthur to look at. He was emotionally the most distraught of the three knights, and the anger and fear swirling in his eyes were almost equal to the king's own emotions.

Then, Arthur, out of habit, shifted his gaze directly to his right.

There was no one by his side.

Merlin was gone.

The king bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard, hoping to contain the wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes.

Finally, when he felt that he could speak without completely choking on his words, the king focused in on the other occupants of the tent.

"What could explain this?" The Pendragon swiveled his gaze to each of the Druid chieftains, his broken voice begging softly for an answer.

They too, were worried for Emrys—it was written all over their faces. Iseldir, though, was the only sorcerer who would make eye contact with Arthur.

The Druid sighed, and the depressing way in which the air was released made Arthur's stomach drop.

"King Arthur," Iseldir appeared reluctant to even speak, but after a few seconds of dead silence, he continued, "we cannot be entirely sure of anything when it comes to Emrys, as his power is fully understood by nary a creature in this world. But from what you have told us about this blue orb, we can come up with only two explanations for it's disappearance."

The other chieftains nodded, but remained silent.

"The first, is that Emrys had been separated from his magic."

Arthur's blood seemed to freeze in his body. The thought of his brother losing his magic sent a shockwave of fear through his heart.

Merlin couldn't live without his magic.

His mind sent Arthur back to the day after they had returned to Camelot, Gaius staring intently at him as he described Merlin's run-in with the Gean Canach.

"_Since the beginning, I have suspected that Merlin's magic plays a vital role in his body. Magic is as natural to him as breathing…_

_"When the Gean Canach took his magic, I believe it did more than physically weaken him. Although he hid it well, Merlin began showing signs of illness—sluggishness, shaking hands, and sweat on his brow, that told me it bothered him. He probably would have died, eventually, had he not gotten his magic back; I don't believe his body could live without it, indefinitely."_

Arthur remembered how shocked he had been, to learn that Merlin could never be separated from his power. It was one of the things that had made Arthur realize how far off his father had been on magic. It wasn't always something you could choose.

Merlin never had that choice.

In Uther's kingdom, Merlin was dead _with_ or _without_ his magic.

The young Pendragon had vowed that day to change things, for Merlin, for his people, for those hiding their magic and living in fear, and for the entire kingdom of Camelot.

And so, Merlin could live peacefully and without nightmares of the pyre in Arthur's Camelot.

But, this—Merlin's death due to losing his magic—was something the Once and Future King couldn't prevent.

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, images of a weak post-Gean Canach warlock flying unbidden into his mind's eye; the shaking hands, sweaty brow, and dulled eyes that the king had dismissed as cowardice.

It was he, though, not Merlin, who had been the coward that day—and he knew it.

Deep down, Arthur could never forgive himself for not realizing how close his brother had been to leaving him for the next world.

Arthur's eyes misted as he continued to mull over Merlin's unique and dangerous gift, but soon, the king realized that he had been staring off in silence too long. The others had cautiously remained quiet, watching the King of Camelot, until finally, Leon broke the tense silence.

"…And the second explanation?" The hesitant knight spoke up, his voice clipped in fear of hearing what they all knew would be said.

"That Merlin is dead."

The Druid's no-nonsense usage of Merlin's birth name forced Arthur to grip the chair back harder, his knuckles white against the leather padding as he forced a sob back down his throat.

Arthur never wanted to hear those words being spoken together again.

It made the situation that much more real, hearing his brother's name—his _true_ name—spoken by another.

This wasn't just the Emrys of legend that was missing, this was Merlin, the idiot manservant-turned-Court-Sorcerer; the man with the kind heart, and shining blue eyes.

"…But I do not believe that to be the case."

The young royal looked up, barely able to breathe.

"If he was no longer among the living, I think you would know, King Arthur." Iseldir quieted for a moment, letting the king think over what he had just said, "Your connection with Emrys goes deeper than your friendship. You are brothers in all but blood, brought together as two sides of the same coin. You are brothers of Destiny. If Emrys was gone, the Once and Future King would know, in his heart of hearts… Is that what you feel?"

Arthur broke eye contact with the Druid, bringing his gaze to the sword at his hip.

Excalibur, shining in all its splendor. He could feel Merlin's magic thrumming through the weapon. Now, Arthur was so attuned to the power contained in the sword that he barely noticed it; but, with Merlin missing, the lack of magic surrounding him was made twice as worse by the enchanted blade. Its power reminded the king of what he was missing—the more powerful weapon that was also a constant fixture at his side: Merlin.

Arthur took a deep breath and then moved his thoughts inward, focusing on his own soul as if he could somehow call out to his brother by thinking about him.

As he did so, memories sprang through his mind, flashing images of a warlock—back then, known only as an idiot servant—in a red neckerchief following the Crown Prince-turned-king into battles, on patrols, and across the castle.

Thinking of Merlin brought overwhelming emotions bubbling to the surface of Arthur's soul, but with a shock, it was in that moment, that the king realized that he could feel his warlock. Not in a physical, or even an apparent way, but rather, through his very being.

He felt whole.

And one side of a coin could not feel whole unless its other half was out there, somewhere.

A semi-relieved sigh pierced the air as Arthur brought himself out of his sea of emotions.

Merlin was alive.

The tent's atmosphere seemed less dense after the king's release of breath, the other individuals present realizing the discovered truths behind the sigh.

Gwaine let out a relieved whisper, "Thank the gods."

Just then, the tent flap parted, revealing a panting Druid.

The sorceress closest to the entrance, Ller, stood in surprise, the disruption to the dampened emotional atmosphere startling her.

The man had bent over, hands on his knees, in an attempt to catch his breath; then, finally, as if noticing the prominent figures in the tent, the man stood, his posture becoming formal and straight, "We've just checked the entire camp, and a clan is missing," he reported, "Tauren's tribe, my lords—nothing remains of his campsite."

Arthur wasn't quite prepared for this piece of knowledge. He released his vice-grip on the chair back, and instead, took a seat, all the energy in his body leaving him.

The enemy had been counted among friends.

He—_they_, had been betrayed. Again.

Anger and frustration welled to the surface of Arthur's mind. Off to his left, somebody—no doubt Gwaine—growled. The knight was only just holding back his urge to track down Merlin and avenge the kidnapping.

Arthur too, released a low growl, as though he couldn't help but admit how close he was to taking up Gwaine's idea.

With his more warrior-type emotions—as Merlin often called them, Arthur realized with a jolt—fueling his body with energy, the king stood.

Now they had a place to begin.

"I'm sorry, my lords, but I will have to depart from the gathering." He began diplomatically, but the young Druid beside him held up a hand.

"We understand, King Arthur. Go, find your brother." Sedger's eyes blazed with well wishes for the Pendragon. "If you need assistance, the Druids will be here to help. Emrys _will_ be found."

"Thank you," Arthur nodded gratefully, before quickly heading to the tent flap and stepping out into the clearing. He had a traitor to track down.

The sun temporarily blinded the king as he walked into daylight, but he couldn't help but think that his sunlight had already vanished. His world would never be bright again, if his warlock were to remain missing.

* * *

><p>The king followed a group of the Druids to the traitor's campsite. His knights trailed behind, too anxious to speak, but still cautious enough to respectfully leave Arthur to his thoughts. The king was both thankful for their space, and that they were there beside him; their presence helped to ground him to the real world, pulling him from his stricken thoughts. But, the king was missing his <em>true<em> foundation—and he needed to get him back.

As they approached the site, Arthur's eyes were drawn to the center of Tauren's clearing. Among the green hues of the forest, his vision narrowed in on the bright, unnatural color. Every sound, every distraction, faded from the king's mind as he stepped forward; his heart pounding against his ribcage, the blood raging in his ears.

He bent down, gingerly reaching for the object.

No.

Arthur looked down at the all too familiar cloth resting in his hand. Merlin's neckerchief, the one Gwen had only just days ago given to their dearest friend. And now, it rested in his hand, not where it should be. Not carefully tied around the throat of the world's most powerful warlock. Not keeping the chilled wind off of his soul-brother's neck.

His heart plummeted. This small piece of fabric, the color of Camelot red, was spotted with blood.

"_Merlin_."

The choked name, whispered from the very depths of the young king's soul echoed through the clearing. His fingers tightened around the cloth, as if trying to find the pulse of its wearer.

The other members of the party had remained at the edge of the tree line, eyes transfixed on the scene before them. Their king stood alone, his very soul crying out for its other half.

"He was here."

"But we don't know which way—"

"He was here." Arthur repeated firmly. "They can't be too far ahead."

He turned to Cadan, the neckerchief resting in his outstretched hand, "can you track him? Can you track Merlin with this?"

"If there is a hair on it, perhaps, or—" Cadan stopped, noticing the red spots. He continued quieter, "—or blood."

Gwaine pushed forward, "Blood?"

The king tightened his hold on the neckerchief, as though, if, by not letting others see Merlin's lifeblood on the fabric, it would cease to be true.

The knight growled, his fierce eyes locked on the precious possession in Arthur's fist.

"Why would a Druid do this?" Leon moved around the tensed knight, coming up at Arthur's left.

No one would dare stand at his right; not now, not when that position belonged to someone missing a red neckerchief.

"I have no idea why, but when we find them, I'll-I'll—they'll regret the moment they ever laid eyes on Mer-" the longhaired knight was cut off by an elbow to the gut, and Leon sending a warning glance his way.

But it was too late.

Arthur stiffened at the mention of his brother.

Gwaine let out a frustrated breath, and twirled to face the forest, placing his hands atop his head.

Leon shifted closer, attempting to gauge the mindset of his king.

"Sire?"

After a minute, Arthur's eyes flickered to his First Knight.

"Merlin…" the soft word was swallowed by the grief and pure emotion in which it was voiced, "I-I don't… how could this happen? We were right there…"

Leon shook his head, knowing there was no answer that would satisfy the Pendragon.

Then, the Druids that had gathered around the distraught king and knights, parted, an older woman making her way through the crowd. Her aging posture was poised in solemn strength, one that immediately reminded Arthur of Gaius.

But the thought of his Court Physician sent Arthur's mind directly to the man's ward, to the other side of his coin.

Merlin.

"My king," the greeting was one of quiet sympathy.

Arthur's jaw tightened at the woman's voice.

Sympathy.

His stomach dropped at the idea of having to be pitied.

Sympathy was reserved for the occasions where you had lost something—or _someone_.

He hadn't lost Merlin.

He couldn't believe that.

As the king pondered these thoughts, Forlythe moved her gaze to the monarch's hand,

"Emrys," she breathed the name with such emotion that it caused Arthur to flinch.

The silence of the clearing was swallowed by the anxiousness of all who stood in it.

What could this mean for Albion?

But then, she stared harder at the fabric clenched in Arthur's trembling fist. Forlythe's eyes widened in hope,

"Sire…" she began slowly, "I may have a way to find our Em—Merlin."

Arthur's blazing blue eyes latched onto the woman,

"How?"

"I taught him the message spell, the one we Druids use for the invitations." Forlythe spoke faster, tripping over the words in her excitement, "a-and Merlin, he—he used his neckerchief."

"I'm sorry?" The king's posture was stiff, but his head tilted, trying to understand the woman standing before him.

"You need a vessel, an object, to enchant. That night, Merlin used his neckerchief to anchor his spell."

Arthur blinked. As Forlythe's words sunk in, the king's eyes grew wider, his lips turning up into a soft, relieved smile.

"How does it work?" His command came out louder than he intended, startling the Druids nearby.

Forlythe pointed to the neckerchief in the king's hand, knowing that the man would not give up the comforting connection it held to Merlin, "Emrys enchanted it nearly three days ago, so the spell should still be strong enough to trace for a non-magical being—especially considering the amount of power he poured into the object." The sorceress could feel Merlin's magic flowing through the fabric, the pure intent behind the young man's spell blanketing her mind with sunshine. "Close your eyes, Sire, and think of Merlin… reach out to him with your very soul," she urged.

Arthur immediately did what she asked, hiding his glassy blue eyes behind their lids, and directing his mind to Merlin. For the first few moments he only saw darkness; then, the milky black gloom melted, swirling with colors until it formed an image. Arthur's brow knit in concentration as he begged his mind to make sense of the picture.

Finally, the mix of shapes and shadows fell into place, and a glowing hearth appeared.

_He's in a building._ Arthur thought harder, willing the neckerchief's magic to provide him with more clues.

A table.

Maps.

A sack.

A dagger.

The objects flashed through his mind—his chest freezing at the picture of the knife, before he noticed, with a sort of morbid relief, that the silver blade was clean of blood.

Then,

A wooden cottage built into the rocks.

A gurgling brook winding through the forest.

Three shadowed figures, cloaks obscuring their faces.

A glowing poker.

The hot iron stayed longer in his view, before it faded to black, leaving the king's mind once again in darkness.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, taking a deep breath as though his body had forgotten to breath during the barrage of images.

"He-he's alive…" he let out first, "and, in some sort of hut—built into the side of a small cliff. I think they had a sack over his head. I don't think he saw where they were taking him." The king started pacing, forcing some of the Druids to take a few steps back, clearing a wider area for Arthur to move about in. "He… but there was a stream. And at the cottage there were tables… maps, and a hearth." The king tried to make sense of everything he had seen, connecting the dots, "it must be a sort of base of operations. I didn't see Tauren, but there were at least three men there."

Then, his face fell slightly at the thought of the other two images he had yet to mention, "The only other thing I saw was a dagger… and a hot poker." He didn't know what that mean for Merlin, but growing up as heir to the throne, Arthur was thoroughly educated on various torture methods, going over each weapon, and studying the… techniques that could be used on him if he were to be captured.

He shuddered.

A hand on his shoulder brought the king out of his dark thoughts.

"Sire? Are you alright?" Percival was beside him, the bear of a man looking at him with an expression that seemed too soft for his muscular build.

Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak at the moment.

The king looked down at the neckerchief, his hand sifting the fabric between his fingers. Slowly, he brought the material to his wrist, and with his other hand, tied the neckerchief around his arm. He needed Merlin's comforting presence, but this was the only option available to the king.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Arthur gave a curt nod in the direction of his First Knight, knowing that the man would see it as an order to prepare the horses. Leon turned and disappeared into the crowd of gathered Druids, heading in the direction of their shared tents, oblivious to the fact that Merlin had walked that very path earlier in the day.

The king then turned to Forlythe, a small, but grateful smile on his lips, "thank you."

"Bring him home, Sire." Her eyes flickered to the fabric wrapped around the king's wrist, "keep it close; with the connection your two souls share, the spell could always connect again."

Arthur's heart fluttered at the thought of Merlin, but he kept his expression passive, "I will," he said softly.

The Druid woman bowed in salutation, and moved away from the Camelot warriors, giving Gwaine the opportunity to come closer, "Alright, Princess, let's go find Merlin."

Arthur bobbed his head, the neckerchief encased wrist moving to his sword's hilt.

The sound of horses' hooves broke through the whispers of conversation. Leon walked into the clearing, leading two horses behind him, with another two Druids bringing the remaining three steeds.

Merlin's horse was among them, Lottie trotting along, oblivious to the fact that her rider was missing. Arthur had to clench his jaw against the raw emotions that thought brought to mind.

Leon silently handed the reins to his king, and then mounted his own horse. Arthur would have copied the movement, but another hand found its way to his shoulder. He turned, recognizing Cadan's hand as being the culprit.

"Sire, I would like to join you on your quest. I don't have much magic, but what I do have, I am willing to supply."

Gratitude for the sorcerer filled his heart, "Thank you, Cadan, we would be honored to have you on our side."

The Druid smiled, and broke away from the king, running off in search of his horse.

When he had returned, the king took one last look at the Druid people, and swung up into the saddle.

He settled into a comfortable position, and tightening his hold on the reins, he whispered into the air, "Don't worry brother, I'm coming."

Arthur's voice faded into the light breeze, but he held out an unrealistic hope that his words would reach Merlin's ears.

"I'm coming."

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

Well, there was Arthur's point of view; the next chapter will be Merlin's! (I know, I'm so cruel to make you wait).

_Sanctuaryforascrivener_ asked an excellent question in her review, about Tauren. I thought I'd answer it here as well, if maybe some of you were curious as well. Tauren is indeed the name of the sorcerer in the episode To Kill the King. I decided to use the name because I really liked it, but I also thought it was an interesting parallel to the show. It is mentioned in the episode that Tauren is "the leader of a band of renegade sorcerers sworn to bring down the king." I thought that was appropriate, considering my Tauren's role in OEA.

Anyway, there's a little behind the scenes for ya.

As always, reviews are appreciated. And thanks again to all of you who have followed, reviewed, and favorited. You guys are awesome!

Also, special thanks to those of you that checked out my new one shot, **To Heart and Home**. Thank you for all the encouragement!

Mirror


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